


Except What Has Been Forgotten

by suzvoy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-21
Updated: 2012-09-14
Packaged: 2017-11-12 14:26:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 62,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/492175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suzvoy/pseuds/suzvoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Stiles wakes up with a shiny new case of amnesia and it's immediately obvious that his best friend is lying to him - which might have something to do with the (hot) guy who keeps appearing his room. What the hell has he been doing for the past 18 months?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> New Teen Wolf fic! \o/ \o/ \o/ Future fic, definitely set after season two, so spoilers for the whole series so far. This story is definitely running with the theory that, according to Jeff Davis, at the end of season two the Teen Wolf universe is still in 2011.
> 
> Stiles/Derek. Humour, occasional bit of everything ;) I've aged Stiles up a bit, just because :D Aaaaaaand...let's not expect realism with medical and school stuff. Because the plot needs to move forward and stuff. Ahem. As with my previous Teen Wolf fics, I plan to update pretty much every day.
> 
> Many, many thanks to rhiannonhero. Feedback would be wonderful :)

*

_"There is nothing new except what has been forgotten."_  
― Marie Antoinette

*

As it turned out, waking up with a blinding headache and a thumping head - actually thumping, he was pretty sure there were a couple of guys in there with a set of drums having some kind of competitive Bongo-Off - was not the best way to start his morning.

And then new pieces of information started to filter into his - very sore - brain.

Stiles didn't actually remember falling asleep. Even through his eyelids, which he was making a valiant attempt to lift but were plainly going nowhere fast, he could tell a light was on. And the bed he was on really didn't feel like his bed; not as comfortable and familiar-

Oh, _hell_. He was totally in the hospital, wasn't he?

That was the moment he passed out again.

*

When consciousness returned, Stiles felt a little more human. The bongo players were still there, but instead of a furious set-piece it was a calm, almost leisurely beat. While Stiles appreciated this change in tempo, he really hoped it wasn't permanent. It was already busy enough in Stiles' head without factoring in any kind of musical accompaniment. His head was just _his_ head, thank you very much, and not the property of homeless bongo players.

Yeah, he was pretty sure he had a concussion.

While Stiles did, occasionally, suffer from a lack of co-ordination - it was like his limbs had a life of their own, where they were always at a rave that the rest of his body hadn't been invited to - he wasn't a total klutz. The worst he'd suffered since puberty hit was an endless array of bruises, cuts and grazes with the occasional twisted ankle. Which honestly wasn't much different from his childhood. There had been one broken toe incident last year, but that had totally been Scott's fault for cheating on the X-Box anyway. The coffee table had just _happened_ to get in the way of Stiles' foot while he was actually aiming for Scott.

So, realising he'd hurt himself _badly_ for once was something of a surprise. He still couldn't remember whatever incident had given him the concussion and ended up landing him in the hospital, but Stiles had done enough reading and seen enough soap operas to know that wasn't unusual. His brain had been through a trauma and needed to recover.

Deciding to find out if he could actually open his eyes this time, Stiles fired up the old eyelid muscles and found he could, indeed, take a glimpse into the world.

And immediately wished he hadn't. Slamming them shut, Stiles groaned in pain. That light had been way too bright for his head to deal with.

"Stiles!"

That was Dad's voice. Dad's worried voice, and then Dad's equally worried hands grasping his upper arm.

Stiles hadn't been freaking out, but relief flooded through him just the same. "Dad," he rasped. "Lights? Too bright."

"I'll fix it," Dad assured him urgently, squeezing his arm before the contact stopped. Stiles heard footsteps moving away and then, even through his eyelids, the light dimmed noticeably. "Scott!" Dad yelled, and apparently Scott was there, too. Good to know. "He's awake! Go tell someone!"

As Dad came back towards the bed, Stiles opened his eyes again - much slower this time, letting his eyes adjust. It still hurt, but not nearly as much as before, and it was totally worth the effort when his eyes focused and he could see Dad's face looking down at him.

"Hi." Stiles managed to produce a small smile.

Dad clearly appreciated the hell out of the effort, producing an emotional, fond smile of his own. "Kid, you sure know how to give your old man a heart attack. You gotta stop getting yourself into trouble before you kill me for real."

Stiles frowned at that - and ow, that hurt too - because really, he wasn't that bad.

Dad kept talking. "Although I think I actually prefer the restraining orders and randomly turning up at crime scenes that have nothing to do with you rather than...this." He gestured towards the bed, before turning contemplative. "There's a sentence I never thought I'd say."

He stared. Stiles just stared because nothing Dad said was computing. Not unless...

Unless... 

Stiles swallowed. "Dad, what's the date?"

Frowning at him curiously, Dad opened his mouth just as Scott jogged into the room, distracting both of them. He asked how Stiles was doing but a woman had come in with him - a nurse or a doctor or a janitor for all Stiles knew. While she was busy explaining who she was and pulling out a pen light, Stiles was busy staring at Scott. He looked... _older_. Not disturbingly so, but he looked...streamlined, now. Like his body had grown up. Plus, his hair was longer than Stiles could remember it being.

He hadn't noticed any change in Dad, but now that he was paying attention he could see it. More grey hairs. A few more wrinkles. A little more paunch on his stomach.

Ohh, this was not good. This was so not good and yet _so cool_ at the same time.

The doctor flashed the pen light into his eyes, which _ow_ , but also snapped him back into focus. "Looks good," she said reassuringly. "Any pain?"

"Lots," he confirmed, "but better than before."

Nodding, she flipped open his chart and noted something down. "Now, I'm going to ask you a few questions-"

Stiles was pretty sure he knew how this spiel was going to go. "Yeah, I don't think that's necessary. Pretty sure I have amnesia." They all stared at him in shock. "Not...total or whatever you call it, but..." He sighed. "Look, I know I'm Stiles Stilinski. That's my dad," he nodded towards Dad, before following up with Scott. "And that's Scott McCall, my best friend. We live in Beacon Hills, I go to Beacon Hills High, I'm just barely on the lacrosse team and I've been crazy about Lydia Martin since the fourth grade. The President of America is Barack Obama." He paused, realising something. "I hope? For so many reasons."

"Then why do you think you have amnesia?" Scott asked, confused. That expression, at least, was still familiar.

"Because you look _older_ ," Stiles explained. "You're all...tall and beefy - dude, when did you get _muscles_? Are you doing that protein crap now? And Dad is..." He glanced over at him. "Grey. With more wrinkles. And more stomach."

Dad's expression looked like it couldn't decide what expression it needed to be most right now. "Thanks, Stiles."

"Sorry?" He shrugged an apology.

"Well, what date do you think it is, Mr Stilinski?" The doctor peered down at him expectantly.

Stiles thought it over. That specific area was kind of...foggy, but he did seem to have very vivid memories of Scott planning his costume for Halloween. Scott had wanted to dress up like Zombie Justin Bieber since he'd still been so popular and Stiles had laughed for _hours_. "October. I think? Maybe September." Scott liked to get his costume-planning in pretty early. For whatever reason, however, he was absolutely sure about the year. "But definitely 2010. Definitely."

A sea of shocked expressions stared back at him, before they all communicated with each other silently, eyes moving all over the place. Finally, Dad nodded at the doctor slowly.

Taking that as permission, she spoke to Stiles carefully. "Today is February the 16th, Stiles. 2012."

So he was right. That meant...that meant...

"Dude! I'm 18! I'm a _senior._ " And based on the date, that probably meant... "Wow. Really glad I can't remember the college application process. I bet that put me through the wringer, huh?"

Dad still looked like he couldn't decide on an emotion, but ultimately decided on slapping a hand over his eyes. Scott looked...well, _horrified_ , frankly. Which was more than a little weird.

Why would Scott be more upset about this than Dad?

There was so much Stiles wanted to do, like figure out the answer to that question, find out what stupid thing he'd done to end up with amnesia in the first place, ask about everything that'd happened _since 2010, holy shit_ , but he suddenly felt a wave of dizziness and his eyes tried to close. "Whoa." He blinked heavily. The doctor immediately ordered Dad and Scott out of the room and Stiles opened his mouth to object, but everything was spinning away into nothingness.

*

When he blinked his eyes open again he was lying on his side, head still throbbing mildly. There was an IV in his hand that had probably been there all along, but he hadn't noticed until now - totally understandable really, given the amnesia realisation. Dad was sitting in the uncomfortable-looking chair to the left of the bed. It was much too small for his body but he had his eyes closed and looked like he was doing his best to sleep in it no matter what.

Stiles smiled softly. "Dad?"

Immediately snapping open his eyes and leaning forward, Dad stared at him with concern. "How you doing?"

Stiles thought it over. "Tired. Sore. But not too dizzy right now, which is an improvement."

"Good," Dad said. "Good." He nodded slowly, still looking worried and looking like he didn't know what to say next. Which seemed pretty reasonable, really. What _did_ you say when faced with amnesia?

Stiles saved him the trouble. He was good at doing that, at least when it came to talking. "So...what did I do to my head, anyway? Some death-defying, heroic stunt?"

Dad stared back at him. "You tripped and hit your head on a rock."

Yeah, that sounded much more likely. "Figures."

"Apparently you and Scott were in the forest," Dad explained, "like always, these days." Stiles raised his eyebrows at that muttered comment. He had always found the forest dark and fascinating - Dad had always told him to keep out of there when he was a kid - but Scott had usually been too scared to go in there with him. And Stiles wasn't about to go exploring there _alone_ unless there was a really, really good reason.

Apparently that'd changed, too.

"No doubt running around like a pair of fools," Dad continued. "You fell over. He got you to the hospital. And here we are."

So, he had Scott to thank for getting his ass to safety. He was about to say something along those lines, when he realised how worried Dad was looking again. "Hey, it could be worse. It's not even two whole years, right? That's not so much time. How much could I have missed?" The look Dad gave him was not reassurring, which might have had something to do with that whole restraining order stuff. He definitely needed to ask Scott about that, because it didn't look like Dad was going to enjoy explaining it.

"You're right," Dad said eventually, decisively. "The doctor said this is probably temporary. And that you're out of the woods. And you've had a MRI scan which shows there's no serious damage, so..."

Stiles nodded slightly, but as he thought over what Dad had said...hospital rooms. MRIs. Who knew what kinds of other tests? "How long have I been here?"

"You were out for nearly 24 hours."

Wow. No wonder Dad had been worried. But...all of that time...all of those tests. "But there's nothing else they can do now, right? I mean...it's a head injury. A concussion. There's only so much they can do."

"Stiles."

"Why don't I just recover at home?"

"I know what you're trying to do," Dad told him bluntly. "Don't worry about it."

"Dad..." They couldn't afford this. Any of this. The sooner he got out, the better.

"My insurance will cover most of it."

"Even thought I'm technically an adult?"

"Right," Dad muttered. "Maybe we can start your re-education with Obamacare."

Obama what now? Ohhh, wait. He remembered something about that. That sounded familiar, at least. Stiles was going to ask more - actually, he had about a million and one questions that he'd love to get started on - but then took in Dad's face. _Really_ took it in - the extra wrinkles, the dark smudges underneath his eyes, the hard set of his shoulders. Made a decision. "What time is it?"

Dad eyed him suspiciously. "Past visiting hours," he admitted. "Being sheriff means people tend to make exceptions for you."

Stiles knew that was true; had often come to appreciate it. Not now, though. "Dad," he said seriously. "Go home. Get some rest. Some _real_ rest."

He started shaking his head. "Stiles, I-"

Time to bring out the big guns. "I'm out of the woods, right? You said so yourself, so there's nothing to worry about. And I won't be able to rest now until I know you are."

Dad narrowed his eyes, like Stiles was being particularly troublesome. Eventually his focus loosened and he slowly sat back. "Some things don't change," Dad said with a small grin. "You have amnesia and you're still a pain in my ass."

"That just proves everything's going to be fine," Stiles insisted, because he honestly wasn't offended. "If I'm being annoying, that can only mean that all is well. Go home, go to bed, and bring me some of my favourite donuts tomorrow." Stiles could eat them as his celebratory 'I'm out of hospital!' treat, because he had every intention of getting his ass out of there ASAP. 'Most of it' didn't come anywhere close to 'all of it' when it came to medical expenses.

Dad gave in, creaking himself up out of the chair. "Didn't you hear?" he asked casually. " _Harvey's_ closed."

Stiles actually gasped. Not perfect donut yumminess! " _No._ "

"Just kidding." Dad flicked a quick grin, like he was just realising the fun he could have with this.

Stiles squinted up at him, slowly rolling onto his back. His head still hurt, but it was so much easier to do anything at all now. "Yeah, that's right. Make fun of the amnesiac."

Dad studied him. "You still want those donuts, or not?"

He paused. "Forget I said anything."

"That would take a miracle," Dad said, sounding resigned, and then he was leaning down, pressing a quick kiss to Stiles' forehead. Pulling away, he gave Stiles another fond look.

"I'll be fine, Dad," Stiles assured him. "Besides - somewhat amazingly, I'm an adult now." And that was definitely still a weird concept.

Dad nodded like he was starting to believe him. "Figures you'd just take this all in your stride. The world falls apart around you and you just keep going."

Blinking, Stiles had no idea what the hell to say to such a random, unexpected and _emotional_ comment.

Fortunately, Dad continued. "By the way?" he asked rhetorically. "You're not stepping your ass a single foot outside this hospital until the doctor says you're good and ready."

Rather than be offended, Stiles decided to take that as a challenge. "I better get plenty of rest, then. Which means you need to go." He gestured towards the door. "Goooo."

Unfortunately, life - or at least the nurses - had other plans. Every few hours he was woken up to have his pupils, pulse and blood pressure checked. Stiles existed in this weird limbo world where he had no idea how much time had passed and whether he was really awake or asleep and things were just really, really confusing.

Then he blinked, and there was a man standing at the foot of his bed.

There was a _man_ standing at the _foot of his bed._

He clearly wasn't staff - the lack of scrubs and the leather jacket were a big giveaway - and he was staring at Stiles ominously.

"Um," Stiles found himself saying, trying not to make any sudden moves so as not to spook _the creepy (hot) guy standing at the end of his bed_ , instead slowly inching the fingers of one hand towards where he knew the call button was. "You're aware that's totally creepy behaviour, right?"

Creepy (Hot) Guy didn't even move, but somehow seemed to loom even more. When he finally spoke, though, his voice didn't sound anywhere near as deep and terrifying as Stiles had expected.

He still sounded about as pleasant as an itchy mole.

"They say you have amnesia."

That was it. No... _hi, how are you_? Or, _by the way, this is how we know each other_. Because clearly, the guy was expecting Stiles to know - or not-know - him in some way, given the whole amnesia deal. "Uh. Yeah. Sorry, no clue who you are." And that wasn't entirely true, because the guy looked vaguely familiar, like he was someone Stiles had seen but didn't know personally. Whoever he was, Stiles definitely hadn't known him personally before the amnesia blackout.

Slowly rolling his eyes heavenward, Creepy (Hot) Guy shook his head from side to side. "Unbe _lievable_."

And, well. Stiles should probably know better than to confront mysterious, creepy, hot (hot), leather-wearing men who were lurking in his hospital room - but Stiles loved a mystery. And loved confronting just about everything.

Plus, the guy was making him angry, making it sound like it was bad for _him_ that Stiles couldn't remember the last eighteen months, when honestly, who was the one that really mattered here? "Oh, I'm sorry," he mocked. "I'm sorry that _my amnesia_ is a _personal inconvenience to you._ "

Muttering, rolling his eyes again, Creepy (Hot) Guy took a step towards the door before pausing, turning back. "There's no need to press the call button," he said tersely, causing Stiles' fingers to freeze mid-journey in something absurdly like guilt. "I'm not going to hurt you." He held Stiles' gaze then and wow, his eyes were nice and wow, had he really just thought that? "You haven't been afraid of me in a long time," Creepy (Hot) Guy announced, which was probably meant to be reassurring - he'd certainly made it sound like a significant statement - but totally wasn't, given that he openly acknowledged the fact that there _had_ been a time when Stiles had been afraid of him.

Creepy (Hot) Guy did leave then, however, silently turning and walking out of the room.

When the time for his next check-up came around - which, okay, was only about fifteen minutes later - Stiles was definitely still wide-awake.

And it was a good thing that he'd figured out he liked guys as well as girls before September 2010, or he would've been really confused right about now.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to rhiannonhero! Feedback would be wonderful :)

Dad was there first thing in the morning, of course, and Scott arrived not long after that. Stiles very specifically didn't mention the guy who'd been in his hospital room last night, because Dad was bound to get hysterical - in a totally manly way, of course - and be all over-protective, ordering increased security and who knew what else. And if Stiles was hanging around with Creepy (Hot) older guys - which apparently he was because the guy had expected Stiles to know him and wasn't _that_ interesting? - it seemed incredibly likely that Dad knew nothing about it. But he sure as hell knew the person to ask for details.

He had to wait until Dad left the room - which wasn't that hard, as something was apparently going on that almost constantly required his attention. He apologised awkwardly to Stiles every time he left the room, but Stiles told him not to worry and pointed out that Scott was keeping him company.

After one such instance, Stiles turned to face Scott again, who was perched on the chair next to his bed.

"Okay, so I have like a _billion_ questions," Stiles began. He was still tired and sore, but mostly he was _curious._

Scott nodded, then frowned. "Is it okay for me to...tell you stuff? I mean it's not gonna be bad for your recovery or anything, right?"

Opening up the paper bag Dad had brought for him, Stiles gratefully inhaled the smell of the contents. His mouth watered. "Nah. Dr Doyle told Dad that the best thing to do is just to tell me stuff when I ask about it. I mean, we don't wanna suddenly throw all this new information at my brain, but being told about stuff I've done could help jog memories." Really, this whole thing was really, really weird. There were 18 months of memories in his head that he couldn't _access_. He was now officially a cast member of one of the soaps he and Mom used to cuddle on the sofa and watch together.

He was really glad he hadn't forgotten that - or anything about his mom, apparently.

So it was weird. And strange.

But still really cool.

Pulling one sugar-covered donut out, he held the open bag out to Scott.

Taking one gratefully, Scott settled back in the chair. "Okay. What do you want to know?"

There were so many places Stiles wanted to start. But one was at the very top of the list. He eyed Scott carefully as they munched on their donuts. He swallowed and started with an awkward, "Sooo...there was a guy in my room last night."

Scott froze mid-chew, mouth covered in sugar. "A guy?"

"Yeah." Stiles thought back to what he'd looked like. "Tall-ish. Creepy." Hot. "Leather-"

"Oh," Scott interrupted, relaxing, swallowing his mouthful of food, "that's just Derek." And then suddenly he _wasn't_ relaxing, sitting up straight as if something had occured to him and _what the hell_? "Uh. Yeah. Derek. He's...a friend. Of ours." He stared down at the remainder of his donut.

Stiles was finding this whole thing entirely suspicious. "Seriously, dude?" Scott looked back up at him. "I say tall and creepy and you instantly know the guy I'm talking about?"

"Describes him though, right?" Scott shrugged and - well, yeah, okay. That was a fair statement.

So, Creepy (Hot) Guy, Derek, _was_ a friend. At least according to Scott. Even though Scott had acted totally weird about the whole thing.

It was giving Stiles some extremely interesting ideas about exactly _how_ they knew him.

And then something connected in his brain. The vaguely familiar face. His name being Derek. Ohhhhhhh. "Wait," Stiles blurted out quickly, "is Creepy Hot Guy Derek _Hale_?"

Scott stared at him wide-eyed. Shifted in the chair. "You remember him?" he asked hopefully. "Also...you think he's hot? _Really_?" He looked surprised at the very idea.

Right. Yeah. Stiles had no idea how much he'd told Scott about the whole liking guys as well as girls thing. "Oh, just try telling me he's not," he said, trying to blow it off.

Nodding agreeably, Scott shrugged. "Well, sure." He quickly turned contemplative. "And I guess you guys have been getting pretty close, lately."

He totally needed more information about the fact that he'd apparently been getting 'pretty close' with someone who looked the way Derek did but for now, moved on. "I don't really remember him personally, but that fire...everyone knew who the Hales were afterward, right?" Now that'd been a real tragedy.

Shoulders slumping, Scott nodded kind of sadly. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess."

Hmm. This needed more investigation. "So, obviously he came back to town. What's a guy like that doing hanging around with teenagers like us?" Because honestly, the guy was sex-on-legs and could surely hang around with anyone he wanted. Why the hell was he 'friends' with him and Scott?

One thing hadn't changed - Scott was still a terrible, terrible liar. He constantly shifted around on the chair, opening his mouth to say something before stopping himself multiple times, as if he couldn't decide exactly what to say. It all pointed to the fact that Scott was about to lie his ass off. "Well. You see." Scott paused, licking his lips before starting again - and apparently deciding to get it all out in one go. "We kind of got him accused of murder - a couple of times, actually - even though he was totally innocent and then he had to go on the run and then you hid him in your room for a couple of days and we've kind of been friends ever since and don't mention this to your dad because he knows _nothing about it._ " He paused, then, taking a few deep breaths - and then he whipped around in the chair, checking the door to make sure Dad wasn't there. Clearly relieved to see no one watching, he then turned back to face Stiles.

Who was still staring at him in stunned disbelief. That story was so utterly ridiculous it just had to be true - but there were just as obviously some large chunks of it missing. What the hell had Stiles been _doing_ for the past 18 months? Harbouring fugitives and getting restraining orders? Taking a moment, Stiles tried to look at the situation rationally. "Let me get this straight - we accuse this innocent guy of murder, he has to go on the run from the cops - from my _dad_ , I might add. And we became _friends_? He didn't try to kill us? Thus living up to the reputation we accused him of in the first place?" Honestly, this whole thing sounded like a farce.

"Well," Scott shrugged awkwardly, "he was kind of moody for a while."

"No shit!"

"Stiles-"

"No, really," Stiles interrupted, "I can't imagine why he'd be a little moody over the whole _accusing him of murder_ thing."

"Look, it all worked out in the end," Scott insisted, obviously frustrated like Stiles wasn't listening to reason or something, when it was clear there was absolutely no reason to listen to. "He was exonerated and everything. And the fact that he came to see if you were all right last night just shows that-"

"That was the reason he came?" Stiles asked. "Really?" It hadn't felt anything like a visit to see how someone was doing.

"Probably," Scott answered. "Why? What did he say?"

"Not much," Stiles admitted. "But he definitely didn't ask how I was doing or feeling or anything. Mostly he just made it seem like _my_ amnesia was a huge pain in _his_ ass."

Scott nodded slowly. "Definitely Derek. He's kind of...different." Which was really funny, because that was totally what people used to say about Scott. Of course, Stiles promptly thumped anyone who ever said it in front of him. "Because of the way he was raised, I guess. His familly were...strange." Scott was twitching again, looking furtive. Totally lying. About something.

Watching carefully, Stiles put the paper bag to one side. "There's stuff you're not telling me."

Clasping his hands together, Scott actually started wringing his fingers in distress. "Yeah," he finally admitted, like he was forcing it out. "Just, it's...it's a lot to deal with?" Stiles had already been dealing with accused murderers. What could possibly be even more disturbing than that? "I think you're better off remembering it on your own. Deal with all the...normal problems first and then that one afterwards, if we really have to, you know?"

Which meant...what, exactly? Stiles now had abnormal problems to face?

So, basically, Scott didn't want to tell him whatever the hell was really going on, and was just praying he remembered on his own. What a guy. It was only due to their years of BFFness that he was willing to let it go - for now. "Later on, when I do remember? I'm probably gonna kick your ass for not telling me."

"Probably," Scott agreed. That was when Dad came back into the room and Scott immediately - and obviously - changed the subject. "So, when are you getting out of here?" he asked, too loudly. "There are so many people who want to see you!"

Stiles rolled his eyes as Dad came to a stop at the end of the bed. "Well, they're talking about sometime later today." More accurately, Stiles had spoken to Dr Doyle earlier that morning when Dad had left the room and done his absolute best to convince her he was fit to leave. She'd smiled at him knowingly and said she wouldn't rush anything, but she'd see what she could do. Stiles had made what he thought was a very persuasive argument involving an extra hospital bed being available and one less soul being forced to drink the cheap cartoned apple juice that looked, smelled and - he was pretty sure, although there no direct experience - actually tasted like pee. Seriously, what was in that crap?

"We'll see about that, Stiles," Dad murmured suspiciously.

Doing his best to smile innocently, Stiles then actually thought over what Scott had said. "Wait. So many people? Is that actually true or were you just bullshitting-?"

"Stiles."

Apparently, cursing was still a no-go activity. "-er, bullcrapping?"

"Stiles!"

"Lying to make me feel better?"

"Better." Dad nodded with satisfaction.

"Actually, it's kind of the truth," Scott told him. "You're...kind of popular, now." How in the hell did _that_ happen? They were always Stiles and Scott, the two nerdy weirdos who didn't care they were the two nerdy weirdos. Now Scott was, like, some chisled-out-of-perfection Love God or something, and Stiles was... "You're Co-Captain of the lacrosse team."

Stiles must've definitely had a concussion, because there was _no way_ he'd heard that correctly. " _What._ " It wasn't a question. He couldn't even make it a question. He was pretty sure he was hallucinating this entire conversation.

"With Jackson."

He stared. "Jackson _Whittemore_? He hates my guts!" It wasn't personal - Jackson pretty much hated everyone's guts. It was kind of his thing.

"Still does, pretty much," Scott agreed helpfully.

And it was pretty ironic, really, that out of everything Scott had told him that _this_ was the thing he was having the hardest time wrapping his mind around. He moved his head to look at Dad. "This is all true?" Dad nodded. "And you didn't tell me?"

"Thought the shock might kill you," Dad pointed out really quite reasonably, if not a little proudly. He was being sarcastic of course, but there was some truth to it. Stiles was... _popular_. This would take some getting used to. "Me running in and out of the room all morning?" Dad asked rhetorically. "Dealing with people who want to come in and see you. Told them all to get lost so you could get some rest. Except Scott." He nodded towards the boy in question who smiled, pleased at being singled out.

So, if he was popular... "Am I seeing anyone?" Please let it being Lydia. Lydia. Or Danny. He'd totally cope with Danny.

Shaking his head, Scott explained. "No girlfriend. Or boyfriend."

And apparently _that_ wasn't a secret anymore because Scott had just said that plain as day, right in front of Dad and there were no awkward moments from anyone. Except Stiles, who was now feeling incredibly awkward to be the only who he knew he'd come out and yet didn't know anything about it. "Well. Okay then." This was good news. He should be happy.

Maybe he wasn't as okay with this whole amnesia thing as he'd originally thought.

And now that he was actively thinking about school and his mind was a little clearer... "What about school?" he asked suddenly. "What am I missing? It's...February. 2012." Wow, that was still really weird. "So that means coursework and exams coming up soon, right?" It wasn't that many months away until Graduation. What if his brain didn't get its shit together before then?

"No need to panic about anything," Dad said assuringly. "The school's already aware of your situation - but like Dr Doyle said, this is probably temporary, and you likely won't have anything to worry about." Stiles opened his mouth to make an argument, but Dad beat him to it. "However...should the worst come to worst...sometimes, in special circumstances, arrangements can be made. But you need to bear in mind that all of those options are extremely unlikely, okay?"

Stiles couldn't imagine not graduating when the rest of his class did. He'd always worked hard but school had always been easy for him, too, and graduation had always seemed like something he could do well, something he could achieve easily. Something to make his dad proud, when he never got off the bench during lacrosse.

But that was the way things used to be.

"Trust us, Stiles," Scott jumped on the 'Hey, there's really nothing to freak out about!' bandwagon. "It'll all work out for the best. You'll see."

Right.

*

Stiles was indeed released from the hospital later that day, and when he was he and his damaged brain were the owners of some shiny new information. Lydia and Jackson were depressingly still together, their relationship even stronger than ever (apparently they'd broken up, realised what they'd lost and were now openly in love. That news had added such a spark to Stiles' already perfect day). Scott had a girlfriend called Allison who from all accounts (Scott's), literally had the sun shining out of her perfect ass (Stiles was not in any way jealous). However, it wasn't all good news about teenagers in love - Scott's asshole dad had, annoyingly, suddenly become 'interested' in his son about four months ago, causing Scott and his mom no end of trouble. As for Stiles himself, he was not only actual friends with Lydia and Jackson - in as much as Jackson could be anyone's 'friend', besides Danny, and Lydia actually knew who he was? - but he was also friends with Isaac Lahey, Erica Reyes and Boyd Lawrence. He remembered them being at school but they'd certainly never been friends and he couldn't help but wonder what'd brought them all together. When he thought about it, though, he could see how it'd happened. According to Scott, although Stiles was popular, he still really only had a close circle of friends. And it made a certain amount of sense that said friends would end up being the kids who, like him, had always been seen as weirdos due to one reason or another.

Harris still loathed him with the passion of a thousand fiery suns. This wasn't a surprise.

By the time they pulled into the drive, Stiles' brain - and body - had had more than enough. He gladly dragged himself upstairs, collapsing into bed. "I'm gonna sleep for a million years," he slurred into his pillow. And wow, his bed had never felt this comfortable before.

Dad chuckled from somewhere behind him. "Well, before you get started on that, Sleeping Beauty, you might want to take your sneakers off." Stiles tried, but really not that hard, and in the end Dad took pity on him, bending down to tug off his sneakers for him. "I seem to remember a young man telling me he wasn't a child anymore, that he didn't need me to baby him."

"Ha," he muttered into the bed as his second leg fell back down. "You have never babied me in your _life_. And no fair, bringing up conversations only you can remember."

"Come on, arms up," Dad encouraged.

Stiles whined and complained but did give Dad some assistance in getting his shirt and jeans off, finally and gratefully burying himself underneath the covers afterwards. "Sleep," he murmured, closing his eyes. Everything else could wait. "Sleeeeeeeeeeeeeep."

He might have felt pressure on the side of his head and then he definitely heard Dad say, "Love ya, kid."

"Mmm," Stiles responded, which was totally good enough for a 'me too' at the moment. And then he fell asleep.

*

Stiles woke because he needed to pee. And yes, he still thought pee because even piss was cursing to Dad. Which was ironic considering Dad could swear like a sailor.

Stumbling only a little as he got out of bed, he followed the familiar route to the bathroom using only moonlight to guide him. He found himself feeling grateful that all of this was familiar - the route there, the bathroom itself, the instinct-ingrained habit of knowing exactly where to go for middle-of-the-night peeing. Once he was finished though and had washed his hands, he caught his reflection in the mirror over the sink. He'd seen flashes of himself in reflections of windows, and the few times he'd carefully used the toilet at the hospital - although then, he'd been concentrating more on not falling over and hitting his head again instead of worrying what he looked like.

He'd definitely grown up. He still looked like _him_ , just...different. A little taller. Hair a little longer, not the close buzzcut he remembered having. His face was a little thinner, too, but in direct contrast, the rest of his body had filled out. He wasn't huge; he wasn't even at Scott standards, but compared to the way he remembered his body, it was definitely strange staring at himself now. He was still lean, but he had actual muscles - actual muscles he could _see_ \- which made sense given he played so much lacrosse now, but was still hugely surprising given that he couldn't remember playing any of said lacrosse.

Deciding to make a more thorough examination of his body at a later date - he didn't even feel like jerking off right now, which really said a lot - he shuffled back to his room.

And nearly jumped out of his skin.

Derek Hale was standing on the far side of the room, next to his bed.

"Oh my _God_ ," Stiles hissed, because Scott had said Derek was different, but he'd said nothing about Derek turning up in Stiles' bedroom like he belonged there. "What're you-?" He stopped, realised he wasn't alone in the house and that Dad apparently knew nothing about him even knowing Derek, and quietly closed the door. "Is this something you do?" he demanded quietly, well aware that he was only in his underwear, quickly reaching for the pair of jeans hanging over the back of his computer chair. "Randomly turn up in my room whenever you feel like it?"

"Yes," Derek said simply.

Oh. Stiles finished pulling his jeans on, zipping them up, thinking about behaviours and what they implied. And that Derek looked really, really good. "Scott said we're friends."

Derek plainly hesitated, and for a moment it looked like his eyes were lingering on Stiles' chest. But it was kind of dark in his bedroom and he did think that Derek looked really, really good. It was probably wishful thinking.

"Yes."

Okay, this was taking his brain some very interesting places. Stiles was about to clarify - again - that they were such good friends that Derek would suddenly turn up in his room in the middle the night whenever he felt like it, when Derek spoke again.

"Did Scott say...anything else?" He looked almost hopeful.

"About you?" Stiles asked, watching Derek nod. He decided not to mention the comments about Derek's 'differentness'. "Uh, not a lot. Just that we got you in trouble, helped you out of it, and now we're all friends. Which - thanks for that, I guess. Big of you. Although when my life became a Hardy Boys mystery, I have no idea. Oh, and apparently you know your way around my bedroom." And wow, he had not meant that to sound the way it had.

Derek's expression didn't change much, but Stiles thought he saw a flicker of frustration. So far, Derek looked frustrated a lot of time, so it was kind of hard to tell if there was even more gracing his face. Derek shoved his hands into the pockets of his ridiculous leather jacket. "When I need...help, sometimes." It was like it was physically difficult for him to say, but he was saying it just the same. "I come to you."

Stiles just barely stopped himself from asking if it was sex-type help, because he seriously couldn't fathom any other reason for a guy who looked like that to turn up in Stiles' bedroom at all hours. And keep any relationship between them quiet from his dad.

Thankfully, he managed it. "Okay."

"You can be...useful," Derek said, and the guy was plainly not used to giving compliments because he looked like he was having a root canal.

"Um. Well, thanks? I mean, I always knew I was awesome, but it is nice to hear it from someone besides Scott. He's kind of like a loyal dog, you know?"

"Believe me, I know," Derek replied, looking amused and he needed to look like that all the time because it was an even better look on him than the grumpiness or frustration.

"So...is that why you're here now?" Stiles asked. "Do you need something?" Honestly, he should've been a lot more worried about a guy lurking in his room in the middle of the night, but Scott had already vouched for him. Plus, this whole damn thing was _interesting_. Whatever Scott was hiding, Stiles would bet his entire Tomb Raider collection that Derek was involved somehow. He wanted to know _more_.

Derek's smile faded and he went back to looking constipated. "It's been brought to my attention, that I wasn't...considerate. The other night. At the hospital." Huh. Was that Scott's doing? "I came to rectify that situation. Because we do worry about you, despite...or maybe because of..." He paused, searching for the right words. "You're one of us," he said finally, and that had all kinds of connotations that Stiles knew he totally wasn't getting.

Then, before Stiles could do anything more than blink at him, Derek turned and started climbing _out the window._ Which...was ridiculous and absurd, but if Dad knew nothing about Derek he had to get in the house somehow, right?

Stiles couldn't believe he was even trying to rationalise this.

Crouched down in the open window, pausing, Derek turned to face him. "I can't believe I'm about to say this," Derek said quietly if firmly, "but we're all hoping you're back to your normal self soon - annoying habits and all. But even if you're not, even if you never are..." he paused meaningfully, "you'll always have a place with us."

And then he turned and... _leapt_. Out the window.

_Leapt._

Stiles just stared at the open window, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

He didn't care what time it was. Finding his phone - which was new to him, and thus fiddly to work - he finally managed to send a text message.

_**To: Scott**  
Ok give it 2 me str8. did we join a cult???_

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to the lovely rhiannonhero. Feedback would be wonderful :)

Stiles was woken up the next morning by the arrival of a response from Scott.

_**From: Scott**  
dude wat painkillers r u on???_

Somehow it wasn't comforting. 

Stiles thought about replying, but his body was currently taking precedence. He _really_ wanted a shower. He had no idea the last time he'd had one - literally - and was feeling kind of gross.

He made it as far as turning on the bathroom room light when Dad came running out his room, obviously having heard Stiles moving around.

"Everything okay?" he asked urgently, looking Stiles over as if he'd somehow managed to acquire a fresh head injury in the middle of the night.

"I'm fine, Dad." Stiles gave him a tired smile. "Was gonna have a shower. Feeling gross, y'know."

Silent for a moment, Dad eventually nodded. "Need any help?"

"Doubt it," Stiles shook his head. "I'm sore and tired but that's about it."

Dad nodded some more, but still looked worried. "Do me a favour? Keep the door unlocked, just in case. And if you need anything at all-"

"I'll let you know," Stiles assured him, then stepped into the bathroom as Dad went downstairs to start the coffee.

He didn't take long in the shower. Quite honestly it ended up being a lot more effort than he'd expected, although the experience highlighted, once again, all the ways he'd changed. It was weird having hair he could actually get his fingers caught in as he shampooed, being long since used to just rubbing shampoo and water over his buzzed head. This probably meant he had to style it now and everything. Wiping over the new muscles - which, sadly, seemed a lot smaller in the cold light of day - was odd, too, but for some reason wasn't as strange as dealing with the hair.

His dick seemed pretty much the same. So that was something.

By the time he stumbled out of the shower he was flat-out exhausted, and he just managed to brush his teeth and give himself the briefest of brief rub downs with a towel before folding his damp body back into bed.

He dozed for an indeterminate amount of time and was woken this time by Dad coming into his room with breakfast. It was only a bowl of a cereal and a cup of juice, but Stiles appreciated it just the same.

"Thanks," he said, blinking blearily as he sat up in bed.

"Gotta keep your energy up," Dad replied, placing the orange juice on the side and handing over the bowl. He looked like he was hesitating over saying or asking something, but eventually just said, "Scott called." Stiles wolfed down the Cheerios figuring amnesia must do something great to taste buds, because he was sure they'd never tasted this good before. "He asked if he and some of your friends could come over." Pausing mid-swallow, Stiles looked up at him hopefully. Said hopes were quickly dashed as Dad said, "I said _he_ could come over when I felt you were up for it."

Swallowing, Stiles slumped his shoulders. Scott could come over at least, but he kind of wanted to get going on this whole re-aquainting himself with his new life stuff - which meant getting to know the friends he couldn't remember. "And what criteria will I have to meet to show that I'm raring to go for some company?"

"Well, for a start," Dad drawled, "you could get dressed. And not look like you're about to pass out."

Stiles narrowed his eyes in annoyance as Dad left the room. Dad knew him well, though, because actually getting dressed did seem like a huge effort at the moment. His mind wasn't tired anymore however, so once he finished eating he dragged his ass - and his comforter - across to the computer chair. He spent some fifteen minutes researching different types of amnesia and their effects - most of which was hugely depressing. He was about to check out his e-mails and bookmarks to try and give him some sign of what he'd been doing for the past 18 months, when the constant low-level hum of soreness his head had been experiencing suddenly flared up into actual pain. Figuring it was the brightness of the laptop's screen, he closed it and mopily retreated back to bed. Not wanting to yell at the moment - or really move, to be honest - he sent Dad a text message requesting painkillers.

Unable to do much of anything else right now, he instead started going through his phone, grateful that he'd discovered last night that he'd kept the same password as on his old phone.

Most of his incoming and outgoing text messages were from Scott, which wasn't a surprise, and most of them consisted of the kind of crap they'd always sent to each other. Some of them, however, just made no sense. He also discovered that Lydia, Allison, Erica, Boyd, Isaac and even Jackson had sent him the occasional message, too. Then there was some guy called Peter who Stiles didn't remember at all, although he seemed pretty funny. There weren't many messages from any of them, but the fact that there were any at all was all kinds of weird. He could deal with the having new friends thing or knowing Lydia better thing. But Jackson? Willingly communicating with him?

And, again, a lot of them just didn't make any sense. There was more than one reference to 'that time of the month', and not just from the girls. That cult theory was definitely coming back to him. Maybe they worshipped the menstrual cycle or something?

...his brain, sometimes. _Seriously_.

Going with the concussion defense, he stopped going through his phone temporarily when Dad arrived like his knight in faded blue jeans, bringing the drugs with him. Happily settling back in bed afterward, Stiles then got the biggest shock of all.

Messages to and from Derek. A lot of messages to and from Derek. Not as many as Scott, but definitely more than any of the others. When he scrolled back, he realised that was probably because - unlike the others - he'd apparently never deleted _any_ of the messages to and from Derek. Which was...interesting, to say the least.

He started right back at the beginning.

_**To: Derek**  
NEW PHONE AND NEW NUMBER!!! HERE I AM, BITCHES!!!_

_**To: Derek**  
hey, is that literal in ericas case? is she actually a bitch? totally not asking 2 b rude and also because i know she'll kill me_

_**From: Derek**  
She's not a DOG._

_**To: Derek**  
i can feel ur judgement even thru the phone. neat trick_

_**To: Derek**  
don't think i didn't notice u didn't answer the question_

_**From: Derek**  
I know - why don't you try asking her that question?_

_**To: Derek**  
...i'll pass, thnx_

It mostly continued along those lines - Stiles being, well, _Stiles_ about something and Derek giving brief, pissed-sounding replies. Everything kind of didn't make sense, either. Like, Stiles could usually get the gist of the 'conversation', but he was obviously missing something. There were a lot of references to dogs for some reason that Derek never seemed to appreciate.

_**To: Derek**  
hey, if i scratch scott's belly, will it make his leg jerk?_

_**From: Derek**  
Bored again?_

_**To: Derek**  
how could u tell? practise done. chores done. scott and allison just had epic reunion. pls god tell me the alphas r causing trouble_

_**From: Derek**  
Treaty's holding._

_**From: Derek**  
Come over. Bring a DVD. Isaac wants to try out the new player._

_**From: Derek**  
Nothing romantic._

_**To: Derek**  
dude, i know better than that_

_**To: Derek**  
thnx_

_**From: Derek**  
You don't need an excuse to come over. You're one of us, now._

And there was that phrase again. And Isaac was mentioned so Derek clearly knew him - and no doubt the others - too. It almost sounded like Derek was living with Isaac or something.

Yeah. Cult theory still holding.

But treaties? Alphas? The only thing that alpha made him think of was alpha and omega, the end and the beginning, and alpha as in the top dog. Which fit in nicely with the whole dog thing they seemed to have going on, but why was there a dog thing even going on in the first place? _Ugh._

He sped through the rest of the messages, which mostly consisted of the same kind of banter, but every now and then something wildly different would show up. Like,

_**From: Derek**  
Need you at the warehouse. Fast._

Or,

_**From: Derek**  
Trouble in town. Boyd missing. Don't go anywhere alone._

Or,

_**From: Derek**  
Need you to research ghouls._

And then there was a more recent set of messages.

_**To: Derek**  
i know what today is and i know you don't want to talk about it. and definitely not in person. but i'm thinking about you_

_**To: Derek**  
if it makes you feel better you can totally threaten to rip my throat out later. it'll be just like old times!_

The response hadn't come for two days. All it said was,

_Thanks._

He had way too much to think about - ghouls? 'Trouble' in town? Boyd going missing? None of this made any sense and he needed some answers, fast. Thankfully, those painkillers seemed to be working because the pain in his head was back down to a distant soreness. Pulling on some clothes and haphazardly making his bed, he purposefully went downstairs to show Dad he was totally ready for some company.

Stiles smiled brightly while Dad studied him closely, but he finally gave in, telling Stiles he could tell Scott to come over.

Text message sent, Stiles went back up to his room and decided to spend the time waiting looking for differences in his room. There weren't many, but they weren't hard to spot, either. A few DVDs and games he hadn't had before (he couldn't _wait_ to watch/play those again. For the first time, heh). A framed picture of him, Scott and an attractive girl who Stiles didn't recognise - probably Scott's girlfriend. The three of them were laughing their asses off at something and he couldn't deny that Scott'd done well for himself.

There was another picture of him and Dad standing on the lacrosse pitch, Stiles in full uniform, Dad's arm around his shoulders as he smiled proudly. Just looking at it made Stiles smile, but he wished he could remember that moment.

There were a couple of odd little knick-knacks - including a tiny ceramic wolf; maybe that had something to do with the dog thing? - but other than that, no real signs of change.

His phone buzzed.

_**From: Scott**  
sry, dude. shit going down with my dad 2day. need 2 stay with mom_

Stiles made a face at the mention of Scott's dad. He'd been nothing but trouble and had only infrequent contact with Scott - until recently, apparently. He really wished it'd stayed that way. As much as Stiles wanted to know, this was way more important.

_**To: Scott**  
no worries. he being an enormous jerkface?_

_**From: Scott**  
u have no idea_

Okay, so they definitely needed to talk about this more.

_**To: Scott**  
call if u need me. i have a sheriff for a dad and i'm not afraid to use him_

_**From: Scott**  
thnx_

Well. So much for that idea. Stropping back downstairs, he told Dad that Scott wasn't going to make it.

To his credit, Dad did seem genuinely regretful. "Sorry to hear that, Stiles. You want to invite one of your other friends over instead?"

It was Sunday, apparently, so at least they wouldn't be busy at school. But he kind of did, yet kind of...didn't. "I don't really remember them being my friends." He perched himself on a stool at the kitchen counter. "I think it'd feel a little weird without having Scott there as a buffer, you know?"

Dad nodded his understanding, sipping at his coffee. "I can understand that. They'll all good kids, though."

Stiles stared at him thoughtfully. "You've met them."

"They're your friends, Stiles," Dad said drolly, "and I knew most of them, anyway." Right. As sheriff, he'd interacted with most of the kids at school when he came in for his twice-yearly talks about personal safety. "They've all been over here at some point or another - although usually you're over at one of their places." He paused, then, the amused expression on his face fading away.

Stiles didn't like seeing that happen at all. "What's wrong?"

Dad kept hesitating, but eventually forced it out. "You still don't remember anything?"

Ah. Stiles was actually trying not to focus on that. "Nothing," he shrugged. "I did some reading online earlier. I know that, technically, it hasn't been all that long, but it seems temporary amnesia is usually _really_ temporary. As in, only a few hours after the event." He was trying really hard not to think about what that meant.

Dad rubbed a hand over his face. "You and your damn research."

"Well, what was I supposed to do?" Stiles asked. "Sit on my ass and do nothing? You know that's not me. Plus, before we left the hospital _somebody_ banned me from playing video games and watching TV when I got home. I had nothing else to do."

"Read a book," Dad instructed.

"I kind of did," he argued, "it was just on the internet."

They glowered at each other.

Dad cracked first. "Look," he sighed, offering an olive branch. They were both frustrated at Stiles not remembering anything, but it was nobody's fault. "Most of the pictures you've taken lately are on that laptop of yours, so why don't you bring it down and I'll go through what I know about them with you. And you can ask me anything you want to know about what's being going on lately, okay? See if it jogs anything."

Gnawing on his bottom lip, taking in Dad's hopeful expression, Stiles eventually nodded and padded back upstairs to get his laptop.

They spent a long time downstairs together. Stiles nodded off on the sofa once or twice, but Dad was always right there with him when he woke up again, watching the muted television. He always went right back to telling Stiles some story or explaining what he knew about a picture on the laptop. The odd thing was that, for all that he apparently had these new friends, he didn't really seem to have any pictures of them. There were plenty of shots that included himself, Lydia and who Dad confirmed was Allison, but there weren't that many pictures of any of the others. The pictures they were in always had them at strange angles, turned away from the camera or with their eyes closed. Derek wasn't in any of them.

Stiles thought of the picture upstairs, of him and Scott and Allison, all laughing so hard that their eyes were squeezed shut.

Hmm.

Ultimately, Stiles still didn't remember anything but he'd definitely learned a lot - although, again, none of it seemed to have anything to do with whatever the hell was going on with Scott and Derek. Dad really was clueless about it, unfortunately.

He couldn't help but think about the murder - or even murders - they'd apparently accused Derek of. This was a comparatively small town - murder was a big deal, and he was surprised Dad hadn't mentioned anything about it.

Stiles had to ask. "Scott mentioned something. About a murder?"

"A whole rash of them, unfortunately," Dad sighed. "Weirdest damn thing, to be honest. They looked like animal attacks, but all the victims ended up being involved in that arson at the Hale house. Derek Hale had come back to town and was pretty much handed to us on a silver platter." He cast his gaze towards Stiles, who stared back at him innocently like he knew nothing about whatsoever. Which was almost the truth. "Anyway, he turned out to be innocent, and it ended up that Kate Argent was involved, somehow."

That name definitely didn't sound familiar. "Argent?"

"New family in town. Scott's dating the daughter, Allison." He pointed towards the laptop, where they'd just been looking at pictures of her. "Kate's her aunt - or was, anyway. She ended up dead, too."

That was an awful lot of death. And Scott's girlfriend's aunt had been some kind of serial killer who'd wiped out Derek's family? And Scott had no issue with dating her? This was too freaking weird.

And so was the way Dad was looking at him right now. "What?"

Dad looked awkward, almost fidgety. "We've never spoken about this," he said finally, which was a distinctly ominous start to a conversation.

Stiles shifted on the sofa. "About what?"

"I'm sheriff. You know? People tell me things. They're _eager_ to tell me things."

Stiles already didn't like wherever this was going. "...okay?"

"People have seen you," Dad said quickly, like ripping off a band-aid. "With him. Derek Hale. Around town."

So much for Dad being clueless. Stiles licked his lips, because maybe he was about to get some answers from the most unexpected place. "Doing what?"

"Driving, mostly." Dad shrugged at him. "Talking. You've been seen grocery shopping a couple of times. Picking out movies in that DVD rental place."

That all sounded very...domestic. "I don't know what you want me to say," Stiles said honestly, taking in this news. He couldn't really imagine grocery shopping with the grumpy guy he'd met briefly. "But you know more about this than I do. I mean, I guess I know what it...looks like?" He shrugged awkwardly, because from the outside it was just grocery shopping, but it was also kind of intimate. This conversation felt really weird; like Dad was unwittingly grilling him over something he had absolutely no memory of. "But I don't think...I mean, Scott would know, right? Scott would totally have told me about it right away." Scott had said they were close, sure, but not _that_ close.

Dad considered that. "That does sound like Scott."

"Obviously I know him," Stiles admitted, because there was no point in denying it. "Maybe I was just hiding it because of the whole accused murderer thing?" There had to be something more to it, like whatever the hell Scott was hiding, but it still sounded like a pretty good excuse.

Nodding slowly, Dad shrugged. "Maybe."

Stiles gestured in Dad's general direction. "So. You know. Sorry about Previous Me lying to you."

"Stiles, you don't have to apologise for anything," Dad told him, realisation settling in over his features. "I shouldn't have even had this conversation with you when you can't even remember-"

"Hey, it's obviously important to you, okay?" Stiles interrupted seriously. "And I don't like the idea that I've apparently been lying to you, either."

Eventually, Dad nodded again. "Well, just so we're clear - I don't want you to feel like you have to hide anything from me. You're 18, now. You are...God help me, a _man_ , so if you want to spend time with him that's up to you."

Awkward, especially with what Dad was implying. "Dad-"

"Even if it is just friends," he cut Stiles off. "Your friends are your friends, no matter how old they are - or what their pasts are. He's welcome here. Just...downstairs," he added, making Stiles roll his eyes.

Eager to get away from this topic entirely, Stiles asked Dad for more news of Beacon Hills that he'd missed. Dad went on about more deaths, although they'd generally appeared to be 'normal', run-of-the-mill human murders, some psychotic kid from school and a massacre at the BHPD. Stiles had immediately started worrying, but Dad had just as quickly assured him that he'd obviously made it out fine, even if he had suffered his own head injury at the time.

Most disturbing of all, most of Dad's deputies - good men and women that Stiles knew personally, had hung out at yearly barbecues with - had been killed.

"Jesus," he muttered, not knowing how to process this.

"Shit," Dad muttered, hands reaching out to him, "I shouldn't have-"

"No, no, I insisted." Stiles shook his head, getting up on shaky feet. "I'm...gonna go lay down." All those people, dead.

His mind couldn't stop going over it, though. What in the actual hell had been going on lately? There were too many strange things going on all in one town, and it seemed highly unlikely that they weren't connected in some way. What were he and Scott mixed up in?

Eventually, all the emotional turmoil took its toll. Stiles had been swinging from random bursts of energy to a sudden lack of it ever since waking up in the hospital, and now he was crashing, hard. When he managed to open his eyes again, it was dark outside.

There was a figure standing at the end of his bed. Disturbingly, Stiles was almost getting used to it already.

"Again, really?" he asked, sitting up and glancing across the room to make sure the door was closed. "Seriously, Derek, you need to get a new spectator sport-you're not Derek," he finished, because it really, really wasn't.

"How sweet," the guy remarked quietly, with some amusement. "My nephew's already paid his respects. Can't say I'm surprised," he drawled, looking over Stiles' body in a way that made Stiles pull the covers closer.

Naturally, he couldn't keep his mouth shut. "Ah. That makes sense. The two of you coming from the same creepy genetic gene pool."

The guy's lips twitched. "Always the most fun even with amnesia," he remarked. "I must say, I'm somewhat offended that you don't even remember little old me." He moved forward, then, perching on the end of bed, placing the palms of his hands flat against his legs. "But, down to business."

Stiles wondered just how fast Dad could get in here if he started yelling. "Business?"

"My name's Peter," the man told him, "and I've come to offer you a gift."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you to rhiannonhero. Feedback would be wonderful :)

"Sadly," Peter sighed melodramatically, "I can't give you the greatest gift. That's not within my capabilities anymore and - quite despite myself - I've become rather fond of my nephew. The way you would of...say a growly little puppy who keeps messing everywhere." Another dog reference. "Unfortunately for me, he's unwittingly adorable. So _feisty_...but dumb as a box of rocks." He shook his head gently. "Taking him out of the picture just isn't part of the plan anymore." He fixed Stiles with a resigned expression. "Things were so much easier when I was crazy."

Okay, Stiles seriously needed to know _what the hell was going on_. He obviously knew this Peter guy - Derek's uncle? Stiles didn't think there were any other Hale's left - because he had a few messages from him on his phone. They'd seemed amusing but nothing had prepared him for the utter whack job now _sitting on the end of his bed_. There was no 'when I was crazy' about it. The guy was clearly loco. There was no telling what he might do, and suddenly yelling for Dad might only set him off.

Absurdly - and somewhat pathetically, really - he wished Derek was there. Technically he barely even knew the guy, but just from what he'd read on the phone and what Dad'd told him earlier, they were clearly friends. Plus, he'd have the added advantage of probably knowing how to deal with his crazy ass uncle.

No, his only plan of action at the moment was to try and talk his way out of it and stay as calm as possible.

Which was a lot easier said than done, when Peter reached out and _wrapped a hand around Stiles' left ankle_. Stiles froze in place, wide-eyed.

"In any case," Peter continued happily, like he wasn't about to molest Stiles' foot, "you already turned me down. And I am aware that I live in a certain...grey area." His fingers rubbed Stiles' ankle. Stiles' entire body twitched. "But even I know that no means no. Even if you didn't really mean it," he teased knowingly.

Swallowing down whatever it was that'd lodged itself in his throat - might've been bile, or whatever was left of his shrinking testicles - he knew he had to say something. This felt like it was going all kinds of bad touch places. "Hey, gramps," he blurted out, " hands off the goods."

Smiling but seemingly unsurprised at Stiles' attitude - they clearly did know each other - Peter promptly removed his hand. "My apologies. Sometimes my body just has a mind of it's own."

That was plainly bullshit. But actually, this interaction made Stiles feel not quite as creeped out (although he was still very, very creeped out. He wasn't about to underestimate just how creeped out he was). For all that Peter was giving off lecherous grandaddy vibes, when Stiles had told him to back off he'd done so immediately. However they knew each other, whatever their usual type of interaction was, Stiles had some power.

So he rolled with it, because he frankly didn't know what else to do.

"I suggest you get the hell out of here, before I call Derek and he comes over and kicks your ass." It was a risk, but he didn't seen any other option but to take it.

Peter just looked _pleased_ , like Stiles threatening him was a good thing. "There you are," he remarked quietly. "But you still don't know everything yet, do you?"

Stiles wasn't thinking about what that meant, and just kept going. "Or I could yell for my dad, the _sheriff_ , who has a _gun_. Or I'll get the baseball bat out of the closet and go at you _myself_ so back. The fuck. _Off._ "

So much for staying calm.

However, it certainly wasn't having a negative effect as Peter looked positively delighted.

Actually, that probably wasn't a good thing.

He did follow Stiles' instructions, though, standing and moving further away from my bed. "I'll leave," he announced, and thank fuck for that. "Although I still need to share my generous offer."

Of course. Like his life was ever that easy. "Do it quickly."

Peter nodded once almost deferentially, like Stiles was being hugely magnanimous. "I can give you your memories back."

He hadn't seen that one coming.

"Well," Peter continued, "when I say your memories I really mean mine, but they're pretty much the same thing these days, aren't they?" Stiles opened his mouth to say he had no idea what, but Peter kept talking. "You see, Scott and the others," he said, stepping closer again although thankfully not as much as before, "they're all worried about protecting you. About giving you time to rest and heal. About not 'freaking you out'." He paused, rolling his eyes. "Teenagers and their subtle vocabulary."

Right. Because that was what mattered here.

"But you and I," Peter smirked at him. "We know better, don't we? We know that you're the strongest one in the group, despite what some would see as...deficiencies." His gaze flicked over Stiles' body again although it didn't feel like an intrusion, this time. More an observation. "We know you can handle anything. And I can give you the answers I'm sure you're looking for."

What the hell had Stiles been doing with his life that he was being complimented by a psychopath in the middle of the night? "You need to leave," was all he could say because a) his initial diagnosis appeared spot on, and Peter was utterly crazy, b) there was no way that memory thing could be true and c) even if somehow it was, there was no force on the face of the planet that was going to make him accept any help from the guy.

"Shame." Peter gestured with one hand, like Stiles was missing out and then - like Derek; was this a habit that ran in the Hale family, just like the creepy lurking? - he headed for the window. Pausing once he got there, he turned back around. "Sadly, I can understand why you might not want to take it from me - but Derek can give you the same thing. Might even offer it to you himself, if he gets desperate enough. He's used to running his life on desperation. Although I suppose things have been improving for him lately," he added, eyeing Stiles meaningfully. "For some reason." Lips twitching, he turned back around and started climbing out the window, murmuring as he did so. "The dumb ones. Always the dumb ones. You and Allison really should know better."

And then he was gone, just like Derek, leaping from the window.

Definitely a family trait.

Stiles didn't even need to think. The moment Peter was out of sight he flew out of bed over to the window, shutting and locking it firmly. Then he flew over to his bedroom door, throwing the lock across on that, too. He stood there, back braced against the door, for what felt like a good five minutes as he tried to get his breathing - and thoughts - under control.

Whatever the hell was going on - and it wasn't just strange or eerie now, it was downright fucking _bizarre_ , because now it included legitimately creepy older guys who couldn't decide if they wanted to bad touch him or compliment him or offer him crazy fucking things like _memories_ , that shit wasn't even _possible_...

Stiles was never going to forgive Scott for keeping this from him. Never.

...unless it was _really_ cool.

*

Terror and confusion had kept him up for a while. In the end he managed to fall asleep again, but Stiles was sure it was only due to the recovering from a head injury thing. He had a plan, though.

Well, kind of.

Turning off the alarm he'd set after Peter left, Stiles unlocked his bedroom door and made his way to his parents room. It still looked pretty much the way it had since before Mom had died - the details slightly more feminine than either he or Dad would've chosen. They'd discussed re-decorating once, but hadn't been able to bring themselves to do anything other than take out some of the more flowery cushions and change the curtains. For a woman who usually had such good taste, she'd been quite the old school Laura Ashley fan. Dad used to mock her about it endlessly.

It wasn't strange, now, seeing Dad laying in bed alone, and it wasn't sad in the way that it used to be. But he always felt a tug on his heart, just the same.

"I know you're there, Stiles."

Grinning, he walked over to the bed. Dad cracked his eyes open, starting to push himself up.

"You need something? Painkillers?"

Stiles shook his head and launched right into it. "Let's say I don't go to school today."

Dad paused. "You were planning on going to school today?"

"It is Monday," Stiles pointed out, "start of the old week, you know. Seemed like a smart time to go back. However," he added, "I know you're worried about me rushing into too much at once - which is why you only wanted me to have one friend over yesterday." Conceding the point, Dad nodded slowly. Good. "So, to make you feel better, I'll spend another day resting and go back to school tomorrow instead."

"Oh, I see," Dad snorted, "you missing school is for _my_ own good."

"Hey," Stiles argued, gesturing with a thumb over his shoulder, "I'll happily get dressed and drive to school right-"

"Don't even think about it." Dad instructed, then sighed. "What's the catch?"

"My friends get to come over tonight," he offered. "All of them." Dad opened his mouth, probably to object, so Stiles didn't let it get that far. "Look, if I get to know them tonight, it's an added pressure that I won't have to worry about when I go back to school tomorrow. I'll already know who my friends are, I won't have to worry so much about getting to know them - again - and I can just concentrate on trying not to freak out about being 18 months behind on my schoolwork." Sounded like a pretty sound argument to him - probably because there was a fair amount of truth to it.

Dad regarded him curiously. "I thought you were worried about getting to know them?"

"Only when Scott's not around. And I'll make sure he is."

Contemplating for a few moments, Dad eventually let out a long breath. "Fine. But, although you don't really have a curfew anymore, I would like you to get a good night's rest before going back to school."

Stiles could work with that. "I'll make sure everyone's gone by...10?"

Nodding his agreement, Dad pushed the covers aside, sitting up on the edge of the bed. "I should call work, anyway. Let them know I'll be coming back soon. And I should call the school, too, see if we can set up some appointments for tomorrow."

Stepping closer, Stiles hugged Dad impulsively. Like most guys, he suspected, they had their issues when it came to emotional stuff. But they'd always been able to hug. "Thanks, Dad. For everything." Stiles knew he'd always been...difficult to deal with. The whole amnesia thing certainly couldn't be helping.

"Don't be stupid," Dad said, hugging him back. And then he went and ruined it by saying, "Does all of your friends include...Derek Hale?"

Freezing for a moment, Stiles eventually extricated himself, awkwardly running a hand down the front of the t-shirt he'd slept in. "I was...kind of hoping so? I mean, if he's available. I think he kind of knows everyone else, too." And by 'kind of' he meant 'totally knows' because the text messages had proven that Derek knew Boyd, Isaac and Erica personally. Might've even been closer to them than Stiles was, whatever that meant.

Dad didn't look thrilled, but didn't say no, either. "I'm not about to go back on my word," he assured Stiles, "just make sure he-"

"Stays downstairs." Stiles nodded, remembering that instruction vividly. "Got it." And then he fled.

After breakfast, and sending a text message to everyone inviting them over after school, Stiles took his laptop back upstairs under the guise of getting some more rest. He fully intended to rest - later. Right now he was smack bang in the throes of an energy buzz, for whatever reason, and he was planning on fully using it to his advantage.

He'd just started the laptop up when his phone buzzed.

_**From: Derek**  
Some of us were sleeping._

Stiles' lips twitched.

_**To: Derek**  
get a job_

He paused, after that, because he actually had no idea if Derek actually had a job - other than probably keeping an eye on his creepy ass uncle. And that thought made Stiles think about said creepy ass uncle's creepy ass behaviour last night, but he decided against telling Derek about it right now. He was already going to be coming over tonight - there was no need to potentially rock the boat if Dad caught him up here in the middle of the day.

There he went again, surprisingly already used to the idea of Derek turning up in his room.

Thankfully, his phone buzzed again.

_**From: Derek**  
It's okay with your dad?_

_**To: Derek**  
yeah. kind of came out that we knew each other. sorry if it's meant 2 b a secret_

He added that onto the end, because it'd only just occurred to him that maybe there were reasons _Derek_ didn't want the sheriff of Beacon Hills to know about their friendship - especially as he seemed as entrenched in the crazy ass stuff going on as Stiles was.

He needn't have worried.

_**From: Derek**  
It's not. That was always for your benefit._

And Stiles didn't even know what to say to that. It felt like it should mean something but, as usual since he'd woken up in the hospital, he was missing at least half of what was being implied.

Stiles ended up not replying at all, as his phone was suddenly inundated with various responses from the others - saying that yes they'd come, asking how he was, that they'd been trying to give him some time and space to recover, if he remembered anything. Stiles answered what he could, but was frankly relieved when he put the phone to one side and focused on the laptop instead.

Following up on his plans from yesterday, he opened up a browser and checked his e-mail. Thankfully his password hadn't changed - but not-so-thankfully, there wasn't anything particularly interesting or incriminating in what he could see in received or sent e-mails. There were a few from Scott and a few newsletters he'd signed up for - the Avengers movie was actually coming out? - but it seemed most of his communication these days was via text message. The bookmarks were next, most of them leading to funny videos or online games - some of them looked really cool and if he hadn't been on a game veto, or in the middle of something more important, he totally would've checked them out.

And then there was the porn.

There wasn't a huge amount of porn, but there were definitely a few badly diguised bookmarks with names like 'History' and 'Econ', that instead lead to videos with names like 'Guy Takes Huge Dick' and 'Pool Party Gang Bang'.

Luckily the sound was on mute but even so, as soon as he realised what'd popped up (bad choice of words), he frantically closed the browser each time. It wasn't like he couldn't remember watching porn before, or even saving porn bookmarks before.

It was still weird knowing what kind of porn Previous Stiles liked to watch.

Disappointed at the lack of...well, anything useful, he delved deeper - only to be disappointed again. His search and browser history settings had both been set to clear the cache every day. Auto-complete was turned off.

Like he was trying to hide something.

He went through the folders on the computer, next. Again, there were a few games that seemed new to him, but much of the contents were familiar. There were a few essays for school, however, that he was definitely going to read over if this amnesia thing turned out to be long-term. Eventually, buried away inside six folders, he found another folder simply labelled, _Stuff_.

When he double-clicked on it, it brought up a password prompt. It was the only folder that'd had one so far, and the discovery made his palms itch.

He tried his e-mail password. His name. His real name. His date of birth. Dad's date of birth. Scott's name. Derek. Lydia. Erica. Boyd. Isaac. Allison. Jackson. Even Peter.

Mom's name. Mom's date of birth.

_Crazy Ass Cult._

Nothing worked.

Frustrated at the well-guarded hiding place, that made him think of the physical hiding place he had tucked away at the bottom of the closet. Like most guys his age, he used to have a small porn stash that he'd managed to smuggle into the house - small because he didn't want to get caught, but also because, these days, everything was available on the internet.

Quietly closing the door and pushing the lock across, Stiles opened the closet and fell to his knees. Dragging shoes out of the way and leaving them on the floor, he was honestly pretty impressed with himself when he realised that he'd upgraded from lame 'hiding stuff inside bags under clothes' to actually installing a fake bottom to the closet. It took him a few fiddly moments to realise how it opened and-

Yep. There was the porn. It was only a couple of magazines and a DVD, but there was definitely a mix of guy on girl and guy on guy action. "Definitely open-minded," he quipped, but he put them all to one side, far more interested in what had been underneath the porn. There were bags, like the ones he used to use, only they were filled with something much heavier than a couple of magazines. He quickly realised they were books and though there weren't that many - the fake bottom wasn't that large - they were still a hefty weight as he tugged the bags out.

Something got snagged on something else, of course, and before Stiles could do anything one of the bags landed on the pile of porn and shoes - there was a sentence he'd never thought before - spilling its contents across the carpet.

Stiles froze in place, eyes taking in the names of the books.

_A History of Werewolves_

_Lycanthropy_

_Vampires, Werewolves and Other Mythical Beasts_

Swallowing hard, he emptied the other bag.

_Werewolves - Fact or Fiction?_

_The Moon  
\- a detailed guide to its effects on us, and our planet_

_Defense Against Creatures of the Night_

Some of the titles were ridiculous. Some of the books looked ancient.

But Stiles thought about all the dog jokes. The 'time of the month' jokes. The ceramic wolf sitting on his bookshelf. Peter's offer of a 'gift', of him - and Derek - apparently having unusual abilities that a normal human wouldn't have. Of the utterly freaky things that'd been happening in Beacon Hills. The wild animal attacks. Scott so desperately trying to keep something big a secret from him. Peter's comment about Stiles 'not knowing everything'. Derek and Peter's creepy ability to appear as if out of nowhere, to actually leap from his bedroom window without risk of permanent injury. Derek's hopeful gaze when he'd asked if Scott had told Stiles 'anything else'. About alphas and trouble being in town and being told to stay safe and being asked to research ghouls, _other_ alleged mythical creatures and, and-

"Seriously," he said out loud, "fucking _werewolves_?"

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to rhiannonhero! Feedback would be wonderful :)

Letting the second set of books slide from his lap Stiles slowly got to his feet, frankly a little dazed. Stumbling back towards his laptop, he threw his body down into the chair and contemplated the password prompt still taunting him on the screen.

He had a few more options to go with now, and go with them he did.

_werewolves_

_omgwerewolves!!!111_

_werewolvesarefuckingreal_

Okay, maybe he needed to get a grip on the situation. He didn't _actually_ know that werewolves were real. It was all still, technically, circumstantial evidence.

There was just a _lot_ of it.

He tried again.

_full moon_

_the moon_

_silver bullet_

He glanced over at the books.

_lycanthropy_

The password prompt blinked out of existence, and he was in.

Surprised, thrilled and pleased, he reached for the mouse and started scrolling through the files. "Dude, you definitely need to come up with a new password. That was way too easy." And yes, he was apparently trying to have a conversation with a maybe-slightly different version of himself. How did that work, anyway? He was essentially the same person, he just had 18 months of memories missing. How much could those 18 months have changed him?

Then again. Werewolves, so.

Probably a lot.

And totally not what he needed to focus on right now.

Apparently nothing in the folder was given a fake name, because there were Word documents, text documents, pictures and PDFs, all with appropriately terrifying-sounding file names - most of them werewolf-related.

So. This actually was a thing. Apparently.

_Werewolves._

Stiles gave himself a few moments to get the fuck over it. Derek and Peter were probably both werewolves. And given the various references to them in the messages on his phone, Isaac, Boyd and Erica were probably werewolves, too. Maybe Lydia and Jackson as well, since they were obviously part of the group?

And Scott. Scott. His best friend in the entire world since they were six years old (and, okay, maybe his only friend that he could actually remember having, but that certainly didn't make the relationship any less significant). Scott was now a _werewolf_.

Man, Scott must be the worst werewolf _in the entire world._

And then he scrolled back up to the top and started opening files.

He had a lot to catch-up on.

*

Sadly, he only got about an hour of reading in when his head let him know - quite obnoxiously and painfully - that it needed a break from the intense squinting he was doing at the monitor. Frustrated by the needs of his body (he also needed to pee. And eat. Not necessarily at the same time), he made a mental note of the name of the file he'd been reading and made a point of coming out of everything, including the original folder.

He stared off to one side for a while.

Not only were werewolves real, but Stiles...what? Worked with them? He had a shitload of Not-So-Mythical-Beast-Anymore information on his laptop. And Derek had said he came to him when he needed 'help' (not sexy-time help then, which was disappointing - and sadly helping werewolves actually made a lot more sense). He even had that text on his phone, asking him to research ghouls. So Stiles was their...researcher? It was something he'd always been good at - he was obsessed with knowing as much as possible about everything and it always gave his ADHD-riddled brain something to do. He was actually kind of perfect for the job.

He definitely wasn't a werewolf himself. Not only was he absolutely sure he would've noticed that huge a change - according to one of the files, along with increased strength he would've also had increased hearing and smelling abilities. Not to mention fast healing which his complaining head was letting him know he absolutely didn't have. And the others would've had no choice but to tell him, surely. There was no way they could safely let a werewolf not _know_ they were a werewolf, in case they accidentally hurt someone or gave the secret away.

Also, apparently, werewolves weren't inherently evil. Horror movies had been lying to him for years! He would write and complain to someone, but was focused more on the fact that _werewolves were real._

His body still needed to do a few important things, so Stiles got up from the chair and moved back to the mess in front of the closet. There was no way he was leaving any of this stuff out for his dad to stumble upon, for oh so many reasons, so he got down to his knees again and started carefully putting all the evidence away. It was only as he did so that he realised that he'd probably also been using the porn as a form of defense; a possible attempt to scare anyone off from looking any further, stop them from seeing what other, more important things had been lurking beneath.

Shaking his head at himself, forcing the piece of wood back in place, Stiles messily grabbed the various shoes up and threw them into the bottom of the closet, quickly closing the doors and jumping to his feet.

Whoa, and as he was suddenly assailed by a huge wave of dizziness, the world swinging around him and darkness creeping into the edge of his vision, he realised he'd gotten to his feet much too quickly. Headrush was bad at the best of times. It was even worse when you were recovering from a head injury.

He didn't pass out, thankfully, although he was pretty sure he flailed pretty spectacularly as he basically lost control of his body, trying to do what little he could to stop himself from hitting the floor. He ended up just a few feet away, stumbling feet meaning he hit his back against the bedroom door, hard, and-

_Derek was definitely still there, lurking around in his bedroom like a lunatic, or a pervert, or a pervert lunatic - despite the fact that Dad had just been right outside. Not only was he still there, but he was angry (not unusual) and threatening Stiles (also not unusual) and grabbing him aggressively (there was a definite pattern to their interactions). Derek was still all kinds of terrifying - especially all up-close and personal - despite not being the Alpha and thus not being the wolf who was actually going around killing everyone, but this was his house. His. And he wasn't taking that crap from anyone._

_No matter how good they looked in their stupid all-weather leather jackets._

Panting, Stiles came back to himself and realised he'd slid down to the floor, back pressing against the door.

That'd been a memory, right? It'd felt too visceral, the emotions too real to be anything else - he'd actually been able to remember the fear and frustration Derek had brought out in him in that moment (apparently he really had been scared of Derek at one point. This probably shouldn't have been reassuring, and yet somehow it was). Stiles found himself starting to smile. This was amazing, _fantastic_ news - the research he'd done yesterday had indicated that this was a very good sign and likely heralded the fact that he was going to remember everything at some point - but...

His smile faded.

He totally couldn't share it with Dad. Or at least not the total truth. Dad _had_ to know - he'd been so worried and trying not to show it, trying not to pressure Stiles into remembering, Stiles couldn't not tell him about it. But he also knew there was no way in hell Dad would appreciate the old, _hey, I had this memory of Derek Hale pushing me up against my bedroom door and did I mention that even then I found him attractive_? story.

Sadly, what with the whole werewolves and Derek being so hot thing, Stiles was beginning to see why he'd apparently been lying to Dad so much.

Deciding to get himself out of this brief little funk - this was good news, it _was_ \- he carefully got to his feet and unlocked and opened his door. Peeing, washing hands and brushing teeth as quickly as possible, he rushed downstairs to share the good news.

Annoyingly, Dad was on the phone. It sounded pretty important, too, so after about twenty seconds of trying to communicate with hand gestures and Dad shrugging apologetically and pointing to the phone, Stiles rolled his eyes and went to get breakfast instead. He was most of his way through a bowl of Cheerios when Dad finally deigned to join him.

Dad swept past the counter on his way to the coffee machine. "Sorry about that, Stiles-"

"I remembered something."

Dad never made it to the coffee machine, instead immediately spinning around to face Stiles. His mouth twitched into a hopeful smile. "You did? What was it?"

"Nothing...important," he said, which was technically the truth, but he still ended up fiddling awkwardly with his spoon. "Just, I...was in my room and...I guess it was almost like a flashback, you know?" Dad nodded eagerly. "I just vividly remembered being in my room and I knew it was a memory and knew it was from those missing 18 months, so..."

Dad didn't appear the least bit upset at the ambigiousness of it. Instead he stepped forward, leant across the counter and slapped a hand against Stiles' shoulder. "I knew that huge brain of yours would be good for something," he grinned. "Your memories will come back before you know it, you'll see."

Stiles couldn't help but feel absurdly proud of the fact that he'd made Dad so happy, even though his actually remembering something likely had nothing to do with anything he'd done. "I hope so," he shrugged, grinning to himself as he finished his breakfast.

Dad prattled on in that way he only ever did when he was really happy - it wasn't something Stiles saw a lot - talking about the phone calls he'd made to work and the school, about meetings arranged for tomorrow, the hopeful lilt in his voice suggesting that maybe they ultimately wouldn't be necessary.

He really hoped Dad was right.

Eventually he started flagging - and to be fair, he'd had quite the emotional upheaval in the past couple of hours what with werewolves and memory flashbacks and seriously, _holy crap_ \- so at Dad's knowing look, he tromped back upstairs and flopped down onto his bed. He basically passed out for a couple of hours, waking up in exactly the same position, drool soaking into his pillow. This sudden exhaustion stuff may have been incredibly inconvenient, but he had to admit that he did seem to be improving every day.

Spying a glass of water and a couple of pain pills on his bedside table, Stiles sent his dad a silent thank you and quickly swallowed them down. Getting out of bed, Stiles decided to make himself generally presentable now so he wouldn't have to worry about it later. This meant a quick wash, deodorant, clean clothes and staring hopelessly at his freshly-brushed hair in the bathroom mirror. There was a pot of gel on the back of the sink which was obviously his - unless Dad had secretly joined a boy band - but he had no idea how to get his hair to look anything like what it looked like in the picture of him with Scott and Allison. At the moment it was just kind of a flat mass. Deciding less was more, he started with very small amounts of gel, trying to coax the hair at the front of his head into submission. It quickly became evident that this was clearly a learned skill, but after a much longer period of time than he would ever admit to anyone, he decided it was okay enough to pass muster and went straight back to what he really wanted to concentrate on.

_Werewolves._

Yeah, he was probably never getting over how cool that was.

Devouring the next bunch of documents on his computer, Stiles stopped only when he got hungry for lunch a few hours later, only realising when Dad eyed him curiously that he was being suspiciously silent over his food because he was thinking about this werewolf thing so much he was pretty much stuck in his own head.

He promptly asked Dad about what'd been happening in his favourite soaps - only to discover that one of them had two gay characters in the cast now, with guest players in the background, which. _Awesome._ When this was hopefully over, Stiles would be all over that shit on YouTube. As long as there were no trains involved in any of their storylines, it was all good.

Stiles may have had - okay, totally did have - another small nap after lunch, but then it was back to research time until he was suddenly interrupted by a knock on the door and Dad's voice calling from the other side. Frantically clicking out of everything - how had Stiles never had a heart attack before now? There were no actual werewolves nearby; he was only looking at stuff on the computer and he was freaking the hell out - Stiles jogged the few steps across the room, threw the lock across and pulled the door open with an innocent smile. Dad eyed him suspiciously, but said nothing in the face of the locked door. They'd come to that silent agreement sometime ago, after that one awkward night Dad had walked in unannounced.

The very next day, he'd bought Stiles a lock for his door.

Best Dad ever.

"School'll let out soon," Dad told him. "Thought I'd go and get some groceries. Snacks especially, since apparently I'm going to have a hoard of teenagers running through here." He tried to look gruff and annoyed, but Stiles saw right through it. "You gonna be all right on your own?"

"I'll be fine, Dad," Stiles assured him. "Out of the woods, right? That's what the doctor said. And I've been following her advice, listening to my body, resting when I need to. It's all good."

Dad contemplated his words for a few moments before nodding. "You want anything in particular?"

Stiles thought over it. "Chips? Soda? Or, hey!" An idea came to mind. "If there are any new snack-y things I've been eating lately that I can't remember, some of those, too." He didn't want to miss out on anything yummy.

"I'll see what I can do," Dad said dryly, obviously about to leave when he reconsidered and hesitated. "Uh. So. Is Derek coming?"

Stiles blinked. He was so not used to Dad asking about anyone in that tone of voice, especially a guy. Uncomfortable wasn't the word. "Yeah."

"Okay," Dad nodded, much too casually to be how he really felt about it. "See you in a bit. Keep your phone with you."

"Sure," Stiles said quietly, watching as Dad's back started disappearing down the stairs.

*

It had been precisely 17 minutes since school had finished, and Stiles was maybe freaking out a little.

Okay. So there was no maybe about it.

Dad was back home. Snacks were in bowls across the two tables in the living room. Soda and glasses were set up on the counter in the kitchen.

And he was still freaking out.

It wasn't like he was worrying about how to socialise. He was _Mr_ Social. He could talk to anyone, about anything, for any length of time - whether they wanted to hear it or not. It was just really, really weird that they all knew him really, really well and the only person out of the group that he could honestly say the same about was Scott. Then there was the fact that most - if not all - of them were _werewolves_.

That he was willingly inviting into his home.

The doorbell rang, and it was too late to back out now. He kind of didn't want to anyway, no matter how else he was feeling about it. He still wanted to know everything.

Fortunately it was only Scott at the door with Allison - who was just as stunning in person.

"Hi," Stiles said awkwardly, and Scott just pulled him into a familiar bro-hug, slapping him on the back. Smiling into it, Stiles immediately began to relax. This was Scott. Werewolfiness and everything, he was still Scott.

"How you feeling, dude?" Scott asked, stepping back, grasping Stiles' shoulders with both hands.

"Better," he said, meaning it. Taking in Scott's curious expression, he knew what he was looking for. "Started remembering some stuff. Nothing important, though." Scott definitely looked disappointed but didn't say anything about it. Stiles focused his attention on Allison. "So...Allison, right? Nice to meet you." He held out a hand, which just made her grin.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I know this'll probably sound weird since you don't even know me, but is it okay if I hug you?"

She was gorgeous and he wasn't an idiot. "Getting hugged by a hot girl? I think I can live with it."

"Dude," Scott remarked, even as Allison moved in, "not cool."

Stiles shrugged innocently at Scott over her shoulder.

"Really glad you're okay," she said quietly but firmly, surprising him with the emotion in her voice. They really _were_ good friends.

After a moment or two of awkwardness, he remembered to invite them in - and that was when he saw everyone else standing out on the sidewalk, silently observing.

Oooookay. That was more than a little freaky.

Scott followed his gaze. "Allison thought it should just be us, first."

Stiles appreciated the hell out of that thought. He may have invited all of them over, but it was still somehow weirder than he'd expected. "Clearly, Allison's the brains in your relationship."

"Hey!" Scott exclaimed, but then Stiles grinned at him and Scott grinned back and he felt better about it again.

Okay, he could do this. He totally could. "Come on," he said, stepping back, gesturing to everyone. "Let's get this party started! And by party I mean no actual drinking or loud music because my dad will kill me."

"You got that right!" Dad's voice yelled from the back of the house.

Smiling, Scott and Allison slipped by him into the house. After a nod from Derek - who was lurking furthest away, by what Stiles assumed was his car - Jackson and Lydia came up next. Jackson didn't look particularly thrilled to be there - it was just as obvious now who was actually in charge of their relationship as it'd been 18 months earlier - but he actually slapped Stiles on the arm, before making a bee-line for the snacks.

And Lydia. Beautiful, brilliant Lydia, who Stiles had worshipped for half his life, pressed her perfectly sculpted lips against his left cheek.

He'd literally dreamed about this moment.

It was kind of a letdown.

And yes, Stiles was intelligent enough to know that his dreams and hopes for Lydia had long since veered wildly out of any sense of reality. And technically he knew that just pressing her lips against his cheek was not about to set off some sudden chain reaction of unrestrained emotion, that angels weren't about to descend from Heaven, that Lydia wasn't about to realise that she'd been wildly in love with him for years.

It was just...a friend. Glad to see that another friend was okay.

And that was actually okay.

He really had no time to deal with any of that right now, because it was Boyd, Erica and Isaac next. They were the weirdest of all, because it was a whole group of people that he didn't know. But in the end he got an awkward hug from Isaac, a smirk and another cheek kiss from Erica, and a manly - strong, very strong - pat on the shoulder from Boyd.

And then there was just Derek. Derek, who was still lurking by his car like _he_ was the one who had any reason to be nervous at all.

"What's the matter?" Stiles asked. "Not used to using the door?"

Derek's lips gave a twitch. Definitely.

He finally moved, slowly taking the path to Stiles' house. Stiles watched because - well, who wouldn't? And maybe this werewolf thing also made you hot, because it was ridiculous how attractive everybody else was. And Derek was...how was he even _real_? And in Stiles' life? And...whoa, getting way into Stiles' personal space.

Stiles was just about to point out that his dad was in the house somewhere and that this personal space invasion - much as he may have been enjoying it, ahem - probably wasn't a good idea when Derek said, breath warm against Stiles' ear, "Good to see you up and around. And dressed."

And then he was slinking into the house and Stiles was left there, blinking, with a hugely inappropriate problem in his pants.

Apparently his body hadn't grown out of that just yet.

Perfect.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Serious thanks to rhiannonhero. Feedback would be wonderful :)

Fortunately, Dad's presence killed the boner he'd popped pretty much immediately. Which was just as well, because by the time Stiles had finally pulled himself together and made his way into the living room, all of his guests had made themselves comfortable - across the sofa, the chairs, a couple of stools he'd pulled out of the kitchen and even the floor. In fact, there was really only one place left to sit and he was just as obviously expected to sit there - on the sofa, right next to Derek.

Right.

"Anyone need a drink?"

"Your dad hooked us up," Isaac said, lifting his glass of soda and when Stiles looked, he realised everyone had a drink already.

Wow, he really had spent a long time at the door.

Okay. Rubbing suddenly sweaty hands over the front of his jeans, he picked his way through the people taking up most of the room in the living room, carefully lowering himself down next to Derek.

"Your dad left that for you," Derek said right next to him, gesturing to one of the glasses on the coffee table. "Said he'd be up in his office if we needed anything."

"Thanks," Stiles said quickly, grabbing the glass and swallowing half the contents in seconds. Which was stupid, because then he had to try and not burp in front of everyone.

It was eerie, because most of them were _looking_ at him in a very particular way, like they could tell he was freaking out. And...maybe they could? If werewolves did indeed have enhanced hearing and top-notch smelling skills, they could probably hear the fact that his heart rate was picking up. Smell the extra sweat and tension coming off him.

Scott pretty much answered his unasked question when he said quietly, "It's okay, Stiles. We're your friends."

It wasn't like that made it all fine or anything. It didn't suddenly make the freaking out go away completely. But Stiles listened to the words and looked at everyone sitting around him - really looked at them - and it was true. With the possible exception of Jackson, they all clearly wanted to be there and wanted to know how he was doing. And seriously, how did he have this many friends?

But okay. Okay. "So," he began, bringing his feet up and tucking them under him, "who wants to tell me how we became friends first?"

Unsurprisingly, it turned out to be an interesting evening. They told him as much as they could about how he became friends - or better friends - with each of them, but that was just it. As much as they _could_ tell. They were plainly hiding stuff from him. For people who no doubt had to lie about the werewolf stuff on a daily basis, they pretty much sucked at it. It was mind-boggingly obvious every time they stopped mid-sentence as if they were no doubt realising, _Oops, oh yeah. This is the freaky supernatural part of the story; better think of something else_. At which point they'd glance around guiltily at the rest of the group, whereupon someone else - usually Lydia - would join in with an ending to the story that sounded plausible or, even worse, they were left to cover their asses with their own lame-ass ending. At least Lydia was creative.

Stiles had deliberated long and hard about exactly how to bring up the fact that he knew they were _lying their asses off._ Part of him wanted to go the whole, _I already know, suckers!_ route. It was only what they deserved for not telling him. Then another part wanted to make it even better than that, deliberately taunting and teasing them with pointed remarks about the subject without ever saying anything specific, so they'd be sharing confused looks all night, not sure what the hell was going on.

Sadly, he chose neither. He chose the _smart_ route (so frustrating having to be reasonable, sometimes). Although he doubted any of them would seriously hurt him, he didn't have enough first-hand knowledge about werewolves to know how a whole group of them might react if he suddenly blurted out that he knew their potentially-dangerous secret. Not to mention that Dad was right upstairs. No, better to do it one-on-one. And probably with the guy who seemed to be in charge.

It was interesting, watching the others interact with Derek. He didn't say much, but every now and then most of them would look at him as if deferring to him, or making sure that it was okay for them to say something. And it wasn't like they didn't tease or joke around with him, because they certainly did that, too - Erica especially seemed to enjoy teasing him.

It was interesting for two reasons, both linked to the flashback Stiles had heard earlier. One, this Derek seemed a _lot_ more laid-back than the Derek he'd remembered, who'd only seemed to communicate with Stiles by threatening him and pushing him against things. Or really, even the Derek who'd appeared in his hospital room, who'd seemed annoyed more than anything else. And two, in his memory he'd definitely known that Derek wasn't the Alpha, which he knew now definitely meant the Head Honcho Werewolf. That totally wasn't the case anymore. He was clearly the one in charge, which either meant things had changed and Derek was the Alpha now, or he was the Alpha of this specific group.

Or pack, really. Because that's what they were. A pack of _werewolves_.

Really, Stiles should've been a lot more terrified than he was. But it was easy not to be when Scott starting telling everyone about the time Stiles got stuck up a tree trying to rescue an extremely evil cat - who Stiles insisted was soon to become their Evil Cat Overlord; the uprising was coming, whether they believed him or not. Or Boyd told them about something horrifyingly inappropriate he'd heard Coach Finstock say to a parent (they all had one of those stories, Stiles included), or when Lydia gave a detailed critique and analysis of all the ways Harris was incorrectly teaching the syllabus - in her opinion. Scott was his friend. He'd always had Scott as a friend. But it felt like he fit in, here, with all of them. Like it _made sense._

And he could totally get used to the heat of Derek's body sitting next to his.

Honestly, once he'd gotten over his inital freak-out, he was having a really good time. Derek excused himself to wash chip-dust from his fingers - he liked Cheetos, too, so he clearly had good taste - and Stiles decided he might as well clear away some of the empty glasses while there was a break in proceedings. Allison offered to help but then got pulled into a conversation with Scott, so Stiles shrugged, glasses in hand, and made his way to the kitchen.

He froze when he realised his dad was in there with Derek. _Talking._

Totally taking this opportunity and running with it, Stiles silently backed up a few steps to stay out of sight and blatantly eavesdropped.

"You know," Dad said, "my son's never actually told me that he's friends with you."

Derek's back tensed visibly, even through his shirt. "No, I guess not."

Dad continued as if Derek hadn't said anything at all. "Sure, there was the occasional reference to him vaguely knowing you - that time he accused you of murder, for example." Stiles winced because damn, that was just cruel. "Or, right after Lydia got attacked, when he finally admitted that he knew you better than that. But since then? Nothing. Well, apart from the generous, observant members of this town who feel it important to tell me that they've seen the two of you in his car. Or your car. Or grocery shopping. Even picking out movies together." Dad's tone of voice was holding all kinds of suggestions, but Stiles was focusing more on the fact that Lydia had been hurt. At least it was obvious she'd recovered, thank God. "To be honest with you, Derek," and really, like Dad hadn't been bluntly honest all along, "I think Stiles himself is pretty confused right now about what his relationship with you actually is." The implication was left hanging in the air.

Derek totally didn't take it. "He does have amnesia." Heh.

"But you don't," Dad pointed out, obviously not amused in the slightest. "So, tell me - what would you say your relationship with my son actually is?"

Stiles should be a good person. Bust into the room like he hadn't heard a word, chattering on about something unimportant, totally save Derek from The Dad Inquisition.

Stiles wasn't always a good person.

The answer wasn't what he was expecting.

"I don't know the answer to that any more than Stiles does right now, Sheriff."

And that...was a total non-answer wrapped in an answer. Because they obviously _were_ friends - the teasing texts they sent each other, Derek's comfort next to him on the sofa, being seen together around town proved that. But the fact that Derek couldn't define their relationship, suggested - at least to Stiles' fevered brain - that there might be more than a just-friends situation to their relationship. Even if they'd never done anything about it.

Dad actually _harrumphed_ , apparently coming to the same conclusion Stiles had. "You are aware that you're...what? Six years older than him?"

"Yes."

"I see," Dad replied, like he was seeing something _all too well_. "Well, like I said to Stiles, he's 18 and - unfortunately - an adult now. He's free to make his own choices, and you're welcome to come here, because it's his home too. Just..." Dad leaned in warningly, "stay downstairs."

And oooookay, Stiles had definitely listened in enough now and went to walk into the kitchen-

_"Oh my God, Derek, how can you suck **so much** at being the Alpha?"_

_Derek actually looked like he was going to push Stiles into a wall for that one, which he hadn't done a while now. "That's your persuasive argument? Really?"_

_Derek had been pushing Stiles' limits for a while now with the even more extreme paranoia - Stiles hadn't thought it possible - knowing that the Alphas were in town but weren't doing anything. The anticipation was driving Derek crazy, not that he'd ever admit it, and as a result it was driving Stiles crazy, too - mostly because Derek **wouldn't leave him alone** , constantly asking if he'd found anything new. Stiles honestly thought Derek would've preferred that the Alpha Pack just attack and got it over with, even if it did result in their grisly, painful and very bloody deaths._

_It didn't help matters that Derek had started bad-mouthing Erica and Boyd for abandoning him, making him look weak to the Alpha Pack, like he couldn't even form a bond with the werewolves he'd turned personally. They were just kids and if anyone was responsible for them 'abandoning' Derek, it was Derek himself. Stiles had had enough._

_"Oh, you want the details?" Stiles asked rhetorically, because he was so ready to give them. "Of course they ran away! They're 16, 17 years old - they're not even adults! They were being hunted!"_

_"I told them the risks."_

_Sure. Like he'd told them every possible detail. If they'd known what Stiles knew, they would've gratefully said no and never looked back. "Oh, I'm sure they knew the reality of what they were getting into, being **teenagers**. I'm sure they realised they were going to be shot full of holes, that they'd be strung up and electrocuted." Stiles tried - tried - not to remember what'd happened in that basement. Pushed on through it because he had a point here. "Perfectly normal risks that teenagers face every day."_

_Actually growling - which was honestly kind of rare when he wasn't all wolfed-out - Derek glared at him. Stiles had a lot of experience with that glare, however, and it didn't faze him._

_Much._

_"You know nothing about being a wolf."_

_Stiles actually thought that was bullshit. Maybe it wasn't firsthand knowledge, but he'd seen enough and read enough and **lived** enough - if anything, he knew **too** much. "That's seriously debatable," he said instead, "but I do know a lot about being human - and part of you is human, too, whether you want to acknowledge it or not. Only part of them is the wolf, Derek," he added, "and that part is still new to them. They're still mostly kids. Human kids. And of course they're scared! They've gotta be terrified out of their minds because all this shit is going on around them and there's **nothing they can do-** "_

_And, okay. Maybe he was projecting a little._

_More like a lot._

_Shit._

_"Look," he continued quickly, because Derek was looking less pissed and more curious at the moment, and Derek should only ever look pissed and never look curious - it was like his sole function in life, "they're young. And inexperienced in The Ways of Wolfdom." He may have been making speech marks with his fingers. "Did you give them a reason to stay?"_

_Thankfully the curiousity had dissipated. "I'm the Alpha."_

_Like that meant anything, geez. "Did **you** , as Derek, as a **person**...give them a reason to stay?" Derek just stared at him blankly. Stiles tried again, because it was like working with a brick wall and just as responsive. "Did you ever...compliment them? Like, 'Nice gouging, guys! Great job!' Or 'That time you hit Stiles over the head! That was awesome!'" Nothing. Okay. "Did you ever get to know them? Ask what their interests were? What they liked doing in their spare time?"_

_Derek was slowly - slooooowly, it was like a glacier magestically launching itself free - beginning to thaw. "We're...werewolves," he said, like the very idea of werewolves having interests was ludicrous._

_"Please," Stiles snorted. "I've seen the condition you keep that penis-replacement of a car in. And don't think I didn't rifle through the glove compartment that time you got gas and stupidly left me in the car alone. Rock ballads? Really?"_

_That might've actually been a blush, like it was a terrible thing that **Derek Hale actually liked music ohmygod**. Huffing out a loud breath, Derek folded his arms across his chest. "I think I preferred it when you were actually scared of me."_

_"Yeah, yeah," Stiles teased, "you know you're not gonna touch this." And, okay, he was totally having fun with it now, but it was true. If Derek had ever really been going to hurt him, he would've done it months ago. Now they had this occasional-quasi-partnership-maybe-friendship thing and despite how shattered he'd been feeling when Derek first came to him for help, how utterly torn apart...he'd realised since that he couldn't sit back and do nothing. He couldn't act like he didn't care, like he shouldn't get involved. Even now, when it still felt like he was holding on by the skin of his teeth._

_He'd tried doing nothing, once, and it'd felt even worse._

_Despite everything, despite how truly annoying he could be sometimes, Stiles genuinely wanted Derek to do a good job, dammit. Stiles might not be useful in the way that Derek or the others could be, couldn't do the things they could, but he could **talk**. He could talk **forever** , so that's what he was going to do. In the same way he'd been practically killing himself with the constant training in his desperation to make first line permanently, he was just as committed to making this happen._

_He was going to talk at Derek until Derek finally realised that the way he'd been doing things **wasn't working**._

He didn't fall over this time - probably because he hadn't had an attack of dizziness before this one - but he was disorientated, glasses clanking together as he stumbled over his own feet-

And Derek was right there, grabbing his arm, a protective hand on the back of his head as it nearly hit the wall.

Dad was there a moment later relieving him of the glasses he was holding, asking if he was all right.

"Fine," he insisted automatically, but he was pretty sure it was a lie. That memory and the emotions that'd come with it had been more than a little disturbing. Putting on a brave face, however, he pulled away from Derek to stand under his own strength. Derek's hand, as it moved away and dragged through his hair, absolutely didn't feel like a caress. Or send a shiver down his spine. Or anything. "I remembered something else."

Parental concern suddenly transformed into hope. "What was it?"

Stiles tried not to look at Derek, he honestly did. "An argument, of all things," he said, and Dad thankfully read it the wrong way.

"Well, God knows we've had enough of those," Dad grinned, moving to put the glasses on the side in the kitchen but making a point to come back and grab Stiles' shoulder. "You need to lay down?"

He honestly didn't know what he needed. More than anything he probably needed to process what that memory meant, what it meant about **him**. But he also wanted to keep talking to the others...

He started shaking his head in the end because he honestly felt fine physically, when Derek spoke.

"We should go."

Well, crap. "You sure?"

"You should rest," Derek urged, "especially if you are going back to school tomorrow. And I...the rest of us have already taken up more than enough of your father's hospitality." It occured to Stiles, then, that Derek was entirely justified in wanting to get the hell away from Dad as quickly as possible.

Right. "Um. Okay!" He shrugged. Derek left with a nod, no doubt to tell the others. Realising Dad's hand was still on his shoulder, Stiles rolled his eyes. "I'm fine, Dad, really - it didn't hurt or anything. I didn't even get dizzy. It was just a memory. A memory miracle," he said dramatically, with hand gestures and everything to show how fine he really was. Dad's hand moved, but he didn't walk away. "Go do...whatever you were doing in the office," Stiles encouraged. "I'll see everyone out. I'll even clean up afterward."

"That would be a miracle," Dad remarked, which only proved he was starting to feel fine about leaving Stiles alone. Finishing the job he started, Stiles put the glasses away in the dishwasher and as he walked back out of the kitchen, everyone was making their way out of the living room, thanking Dad for generally being awesome - when he wasn't not-so-subtly threatening Derek.

The process for everyone leaving went in pretty much the same order, with the same amount of hugs and kisses. Not being used to many of either, he was willing to admit it was a pleasant experience, and he was looking forward to doing this again. He got a lot of encouraging comments about returning to school tomorrow, and then people started making their way home.

Well. Some people.

Derek was still on the porch, with Erica, Boyd and Isaac waiting next to his car. Stiles realised that he'd probably driven them there.

Realising this was kind of his chance to bring up - well, everything - Stiles opened his mouth, but for one brief moment, he thought back to the newest memory and considered saying nothing at all. The Stiles in that memory had been...different.

Worrying.

Getting over himself for the time being, Stiles looked back into the house, deduced that Dad was actually in his office, and quietly pulled the door to behind him. Derek cocked his head at him curiously.

"Something tells me you might need to know this," Stiles said quietly, stepping closer, because at the very least he did have to do something about creepy guys in his room who he didn't actually want there, "but Peter came into my room last night and offered me a 'gift'."

There were various reactions. Derek looked shocked and - well, _pissed_ , and next to the car, all three of the teenagers straightened up as they obviously overheard.

" _What_ ," Derek ground out angrily, "exactly, did he offer you?"

"My memories. Or, his, really?" He shrugged. "Because of the, um," here it went, as he deliberately pitched his voice even lower, "werewolf thing, right? You guys can do that? I think?"

And yeah, there was another reaction as Derek's anger just went straight to shock alone, and Erica sighed heavily. Distracted by the activity next to the car, Stiles looked over Derek's shoulder to see Boyd pulling out his wallet and holding out a hand.

"You are such a know-it-all," Erica said snottily, slapping a twenty-dollar bill into Boyd's hand.

"It saddens me that you feel this way," Boyd said blandly, not sounding sad at all, "truly."

Isaac just grinned, like he knew better than to ever take that bet.

Derek didn't seem to be in on the whole joyous mood, turning his head to the right. "Go home," he said at normal volume, obviously talking to the others.

Erica gestured to the car. "But you drove us-"

"You're werewolves," Derek interrupted, " _run._ "

Erica looked like she was about to respond again but Isaac pulled her in close and murmured something into her ear. She glanced across at Boyd and when he nodded, it seemed she'd finally accepted the inevitable and the three of them ran off together.

 _Really_ quickly. So much for subtlety.

Derek nodded to his car. "We should talk. Privately."

Derek's car was awesome, really, but also a lot smaller on the inside than it'd seemed from the outside. And while Derek wasn't physically huge, he did have an aura about him that was kind of...intimidating. Sometimes.

"So!" Stiles began as soon as the door slammed shut, because it was better than sitting in silence. "I was totally right, right? Werewolves!"

Looking at the view through the windscreen - maybe checking for witnesses - Derek then focused his attention on Stiles. "How long have you known?"

"Just since this morning, really," he admitted. "I didn't...remember it or anything. Scott was just..." he shrugged. "It was really obvious from the first real conversation I had with him after waking up in the hospital that he was hiding something, you know? He was never the greatest liar. I learned to read the signs years ago." Derek nodded sympathetically, like this was a fact he was well-acquainted with, too. He probably was. "And there were these weird text messages on my phone, and all these little clues in my room - and once I managed to get into the research on my laptop, I put it all together. And I've had a couple of memories since which have totally backed the whole theory up." And given him a lot more to think about than just werewolves, but he wasn't mentioning that right now. Existential crises and werewolf reveals just didn't seem like a good conversational blend.

Derek didn't look particularly surprised at hearing the news that Stiles had pretty much figured it out himself. Instead, he nodded contemplatively. "And you're...okay with it?"

" _Werewolves_ , are you kidding me?" he asked, with maybe just a dash of faked enthusiasm. "Sure, I'm not gonna lie - the idea is a bit freaky sometimes, but werewolves is like the _ultimate_ in cool."

A small grin pushed up the corners of Derek's mouth. He was definitely pleased with what he was hearing, which Stiles was taking as a plus. "And you know which of us are werewolves?"

Which meant some of the group weren't, which...well, after tonight, Stiles had kind of been thinking that anyway. "You and Peter," he began, Derek's expression darkening at the mention of that name. "Scott - and _that's_ weird, let me tell you." He shook his head at the very idea. "Isaac, Erica and Boyd. Allison isn't," he decided, "and I'm not sure about Jackson and Lydia."

"Jackson is," Derek told him. "Lydia's immune."

There was a story behind that comment. And then Stiles suddenly remembered the pictures that only he, Lydia and Allison were in fully. He should've _known_.

"And I'm not a werewolf," Stiles concluded, "but I think I'm Mr Research Guy?" Derek nodded, which made Stiles nod in return. "Which is what you meant the other night about coming to me for help." There was more of Derek nodding, then, and Stiles watched his face and...well. He had to ask. "Can I ask you something?"

"I can safely say that it's never once stopped you when I've said no," Derek responded, which totally sounded like Stiles and honestly, despite the words he was using it didn't even look like Derek minded that much.

Which totally boosted Stiles' confidence, helping him to ask. "When you guys...change, or whatever. What does it look like? Most of the lore implies the full-on wolf." The idea of Scott having a tail was _hilarious_.

"Only an Alpha can fully transform into a wolf."

So...Derek could actually do that. Derek could transform into a wolf. _Awesome._ "The others?"

"It's just the face, mostly. It takes on some of the wolf's characteristics."

Stiles licked his lips. "Can you show me? I mean," he rushed on, "is that possible? Or does it only happen on a full moon-?"

Derek shook his head. "It's easier around the full moon," he admitted, "but once you have enough control you can bring the wolf out anytime you want to. You sure you want to see?"

Stiles nodded _very_ enthusiastically. "Oh my God, yes." Werewolves!

That might've even been a quiet chuckle that escaped Derek, but then he was giving the area around the car a good look - through the windows, checking the mirrors - and when he was apparently satisfied no one was about to stumble across the car, he suddenly contorted his head to one side and-

Everything was just _there_. Thick, coarse-looking hair on the side of his face. Deep red eyes. And a really impressive set of fangs.

"Okay," was all Stiles could say as he stared at him, wide-eyed. "Okay, then." This was actually real.

Snorting in amusement - which was weird as hell with his wolf face on - Derek started changing back, only this time he didn't move at all, and Stiles watched in dumbstruck fascination as hair receeded back into skin, as red faded from his eyes, as his teeth flattened - or maybe the fangs just disappeared into the gums; Stiles really wasn't sure.

Normal Derek Face looked at him, seeming amused. "You all right?"

"Yes," Stiles said immediately, decidedly more high-pitched than usual.

"Good," Derek remarked, before moving on. "There's obviously a lot more we need to talk about," he said, "but not now - your Dad'll get suspicious if we sit out here too long. We'll give you some space to rest as much - and as long - as you need. It's a lot to adjust to and you're still recovering, so it's your call how much you contact any of us. Fortunately, we have the luxury of being able to take some time to do that at the moment." Which said a lot about what their lives were like normally. "When you're ready, we'll arrange...something. If most of your memories are still missing." Stiles couldn't help but wonder if 'arrange something' meant Derek making the same offer that Peter had, or if there was some kind of Intro To Werewolves course on offer. He wasn't even sure which one he'd prefer right now. "In the meantime, if you need to know anything..."

Right. "I have your number," Stiles concluded, and Derek nodded.

Okay. Okay. He'd just seen a _werewolf_. Not sure if he was supposed to say anything to that, he instead reached for the door release and swung open the door, climbing out as a calmly as he could manage.

Derek's voice caught his attention before he could shut the door. "Stiles."

Bending down, Stiles looked into the car.

Derek leant across the space between them. "I don't want you to think...it wasn't kept from you deliberately. Scott thought we should give you a chance to heal, some time to try and remember on your own. It's usually the Alpha's call," he muttered, "but what do I know when it's _Scott's_ best friend?"

Stiles pursed his lips together in amusement, because he was somehow pretty sure this little bitchy side of Derek wasn't a side that many people got to see. "Right. Thanks," he added, because it was kind of nice that Derek hadn't wanted to hide anything from him, even if Stiles himself was starting to suspect that knowing about all this werewolf stuff was not as cool as it initally appeared.

"Also?" Derek said. "If you see Peter, stay away from him. Keep your windows and doors locked. I need to have a word with my uncle." Even as he said that last sentence, he was pulling back to sit in the drivers' seat properly, turning the key in the ignition.

Getting the hint, Stiles closed the door and stepped back just as the car squealed away from the curb.

He held up a useless hand in goodbye, watching the car vanish into the distance.

So. That actually just happened.

His hand was still up in the air a full minute later.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endless thanks to rhiannonhero :) Feedback would be wonderful :) As usual, completely making it up with the education stuff ;D

When Stiles woke the next morning, it was to the realisation that his brain had given him some more memories as he slept. At least, he _thought_ they were memories. They'd come back to him like a dream, and in the way that his dreams always were, he only remembered bits and pieces and it seemed the harder he concentrated on them, the further they slipped away from him.

So, that was a fun start to the day.

After proving to Dad that yes, he definitely still wanted to go to school and yes, he was feeling physically healthy enough - Dad actually gave him the drunk test, made him recite the alphabet backwards, touch his nose and everything - they climbed into Dad's cruiser and took the thankfully still familiar route to school. Dad had made it extremely clear that Stiles wasn't about to drive anywhere when technically still suffering from a concussion and though it was vaguely irritating, Stiles couldn't disagree with him. Plus, doctor's orders.

Before he'd gone to bed the previous night, he'd done a lot of thinking and decided not to let one weird memory worry him so much when he had no context for it, just get on and do what he needed to do. He'd also seriously considered sending Scott an _OMGWHYDIDN'TYOUTELLME???_ message, but decided that kind of thing was better done in person where he could actually whack him around the head. He had, however, almost immediately taken Derek's offer to contact him if he had any questions to heart - although it hadn't been about werewolves, per se. It was only now, as he sat in Dad's car, that he received a reply.

_**To: Derek**  
if i'm supposed to stay away from peter why do i have messages from him on my phone?_

_**From: Derek**  
We've had to work with him before. He thinks he's being funny. I made it clear to him last night that he isn't._

Stiles couldn't help but wonder if 'made it clear' meant 'punched him in the face'. Also, it wasn't a surprise that Peter had one seriously screwed-up sense of humour.

He sent a response.

_**To: Derek**  
thnx_

His phone buzzed again barely a minute later.

_**From: Derek**  
Are there a lot of a messages? What do they say?_

That made a smile tug at his mouth.

_**To: Derek**  
nothing creepy, mr none of your business. and not many._

Derek didn't respond to the joke at all, but just as they pulled into a space in the school parking lot, another message arrived.

_**From: Derek**  
Let me know if that changes._

Stiles could openly admit it to himself - it was nice knowing that someone besides his dad and Scott actively cared about him. He'd definitely gotten that impression from the others last night, too, but Derek seemed even a step beyond that. And it certainly didn't hurt that Derek looked the way he did while he did said caring.

Realising Dad was eyeing his phone curiously, Stiles smiled too much and quickly shoved it into a pocket.

"Let's get going, kid," Dad encouraged, and stepped out of the car.

Their first stop was at reception for Dad to sign in - he took school safety very seriously, and refused to be waved in just on the weight of his badge - and then they headed for the Principal's office. The journey was a little weird because most of the students they passed obviously recognised him and just as obviously knew what'd happened to him. The attention was off-putting, but what was even stranger were the amount of people who said they were glad to see him, gave him a bro handshake or fist bump - or rather, tried to. The first attempt had taken Stiles so much by surprise that he'd just stood there blankly, basically having his hand fondled until Dad elbowed him in the ribs. There were even a few girls who flirted with him, blatantly flirted with him _right in front of Dad_ , like that was a normal thing to be doing in front of the guy who was a) sheriff and b) his _Dad_.

Stiles gave them a wide berth.

"So, really," he said quickly as they approached the door that was generally familiar to everyone for all the wrong reasons, "how long have I been this popular?"

"A few months," Dad told him, pausing to rap on the door, "basically since you made Co-Captain."

Yeah. That made a tragic amount of sense. And also explained why, for all his apparent popularity, Stiles had only maintained the friends he'd had already. People who suddenly liked him just for his lacrosse skills weren't friends at all. If he could recognise that now, he was sure as hell Previous Stiles had recognised it, too.

They had to wait for a little while, but after about fifteen minutes they were being shown in to see the Principal.

Who had changed. Into a woman.

There'd been no sex-change operation that Stiles was aware of, but it definitely wasn't the guy he'd been expecting to see. Why had no one told him this last night?

She seemed nice enough, however, although way too enthusiastic even for Stiles' tastes. She was constantly bringing up the fact that he was Co-Captain of the lacrosse team, that they'd do everything possible to help him 'get through this challenging time', that if it came down to it he didn't need to worry too much about his school work; he just needed to study enough specific areas to take a few tests and he could technically walk with the rest of his class at Graduation, finishing up anything he might need to at Summer School.

"I doubt that'll be necessary," Dad said proudly, "Stiles has started remembering a few things already."

Principal Brooks went on about how wonderful that was, that she was hoping for a fast recovery, and then passed over an A4 envelope that contained notes she'd asked his subject teachers to provide. That way he could see what they'd been working on lately, so he wouldn't be completely out of the loop when he went into class.

Principal Brooks was actually kind of awesome.

As they left her office, she urged both of them to contact her about anything they might need even as she handed Stiles a tardy note to take to class, just to make sure he didn't end up getting into trouble for being late.

"She's kind of awesome," Stiles told his Dad, when it was just the two of them in the corridor.

"That she is," Dad nodded. "So, what class should you be in now?"

"I have no idea," Stiles shrugged, pulling the notes free from the envelope, pleased when he saw that his class schedule was sitting on top. His eyes flicked across the information, taking it in. Glanced at the clock hanging outside the Principal's office. "I have...20 minutes of History left." He liked History, but was kind of weirded out at the idea of walking into the room part-way through the lesson and being immediately known as The Amnesia Kid.

"You better get going, then," Dad said encouragingly, placing a hand on Stiles' shoulder. He paused once it was there, though, face growing serious until Stiles met his gaze. "You good?"

Standing up straight, determined to do this, Stiles nodded. "I'm good."

Patting his shoulder proudly, Dad then pulled him into a hug. Stiles returned it gladly. "I'll be at work," Dad said quietly, "but don't hesitate if you need-"

"I won't," Stiles promised, pulling back to end the hug. "Seriously. If it gets too much I have my phone, and if the headache gets worse I have pain pills and the nurses' office is just one fainting incident away."

Rolling his eyes, Dad shoved his shoulder playfully - if gently. "Get out of here," he said gruffly.

Stiles did, with a smile, but when he reached the end of the corridor and went to turn the corner, he glanced back. Dad was still watching him go.

It did end up being weird. People did end up staring at him, making him want to sink down into his seat and disappear into a convenient yet very tiny black hole. But eventually they - and he - got over it.

*

Stiles apparently didn't have any classes with Scott - or at least he hadn't seen him in class - so recess was the first time he got to speak to him.

And confront him.

"I can't believe you didn't-"

"I know, I know." Scott forestalled any further complaining by holding out his hands. "I'm sorry, okay. I thought with the whole amnesia thing going on, telling you would just...freak you out."

"Great plan, Scott," Stiles mocked. "Because figuring out about..." he lowered his voice, glancing around to make sure no one was looking, "...werewolves by _myself_ was even freakier."

Scott shrugged awkwardly, looking way too adorable for a guy who could sprout fangs these days. "Sorry?"

Ugh, why was he saddled with such cuteness in a best friend? It made it really hard to stay angry at him. "How did you know I knew, anyway?" He'd obviously known what Stiles had been ranting about the moment he'd seen him.

"Erica called last night," Scott explained, then paused. "She may have laughed at me. A lot."

That actually seemed to make sense. "If it makes you feel any better, she totally lost out on a twenty-dollar bet to Boyd. Was there some kind of pool going about when I'd work it out?" That totally sounded like something Stiles would do in their situation.

"Not officially," was all Scott said, and then he stopped walking, facing Stiles with a chastened expression. "I really am sorry. I was going to call after Erica contacted me last night, but Derek had told us all to give you some space...and I thought he might've actually had a point for once. Or that maybe you didn't want to hear from me at all." Scott fixed him with those huge, brown eyes.

Honestly, it was like talking to a puppy - and Stiles was now going to run with every dog joke that he possibly could. "Don't be a moron. You may still be a doofus but you're my doofus. Even if you do have a waggy little tail now."

Chuckling, relieved, Scott started walking again with Stiles right next to him. "Derek's the only one who's got a tail."

"I heard that," Stiles agreed. "Have you seen it?" Because honestly, he was totally curious about exactly what Derek looked like in full-on wolf form.

"Once."

He definitely needed to hear more about that. "What did it look like?"

Scott visibly thought it over. "Surprisingly bushy."

"Huh." Throwing an arm over Scott's shoulder, Stiles did some of his own thinking. "That surprises me. He seems the type who'd be into manscaping."

"I know, right?"

Yeah, this was just like old times.

"So, what's up with your dad?"

*

In the end, his first day back at school was full of highs and lows. Pretty much all his lessons were a bust, even with the notes he'd been given, but at the same time it'd been really good to hang out with Scott and the others at lunch. Lunch itself had been another weird experience, however, as with him, Jackson and Lydia sitting together, they'd clearly been the _popular_ table. It went against every school experience that Stiles could remember having and he couldn't help but be amazed at how much things had changed in just 18 months.

Fortunately, none of them had played up to their apparent status. Lydia, who Stiles may have worshipped for a long time but whose flaws he was more than aware of, didn't deliberately say anything to poke away at Jackson's once-obvious insecurities to get something that she wanted. Jackson didn't make comments that implied he was better than everyone else in the room (well...not often). Things really had changed, and they were just a group of friends, clustered around the same table, laughing and talking and being the envy of everyone around them.

Okay, so maybe Stiles liked it a little bit.

He was glad, however, when the end of the school day started rolling around. During last period his head had started to hurt more and he felt distinctly drowsy. The whole experience had turned out to be a lot to take in and deal with, and he was more glad than ever that he'd gotten the introductions out of the way the night before. There was barely ten minutes left in the day when Miss Harold started firmly telling the class that she'd better not hear about anyone having not sent their college applications in before the community college cut-off date and-

_Moping, Stiles threw himself back against the warehouse's comfortably familiar sofa. "Oh God, why is there so much **choice**? Don't they know they're going to have to deal with students like me as well as the regular kids? I can barely make a choice between Coke and Diet Coke, never mind something that actually matters."_

_Derek, sitting just a few inches away from him, didn't laugh exactly, but then that was his speciality. A non-laugh laugh. It was very annoying. "Obviously it's just to make your life difficult," he said calmly, picking out yet another piece of paper from the vast pile of leaflets and printed sheets resting on the rickety table in front of them. The TV and DVD player had been carefully moved just for the occasion._

_"No, that's why you exist," Stiles grumbled, giving him a nudge._

_Derek grunted, but didn't actually disagree. "It would make things a lot easier if you'd actually narrow down your course choices."_

_"But there's so much to learn!" Stiles enthused. "And it's all so **interesting.** " Stiles loved learning. He was good at it, too. Giving up, he flopped across his half of the sofa. "Bet you're sick of doing this with me and all the others."_

_Arm pausing mid-stretch as it placed a leaflet back on the table, Derek eventually shrugged. "Wasn't quite this complicated with them." He stopped for a moment, as if building up to something. "They're all going to the community college."_

_Surprised at that piece of news, Stiles straightened up. "All of them?" Sure, Stiles had figured Scott would be going to BHCC because although his grade point average had gone up since they'd all got their act together and started treating each other like pack, his grades were never going to be the best and money was always an issue. Which didn't really matter that much, because BHCC was thought of quite well for a community college. Honestly, Stiles had been thinking about BHCC himself, because it wasn't like he and Dad were rolling in it, either._

_He just knew that Dad didn't want him to waste his potential, and this Co-Captain thing was still pretty new, but with the possibility of a lacrosse scholarship on the horizon despite the fierce competition he already knew there was for places..._

_If was probably unrealistic, he knew that. But it was possible._

_"It's...easier on them," Derek explained. "If they stay near the Alpha - and each other. They'll probably do better academically at a community college than they would at Harvard."_

_And that was something that Stiles hadn't even considered. The pack connection. It was hard to define, or explain - he'd made Derek attempt to do that very thing numerous times - but it existed, just the same. Stiles had to wonder... "Would that be the same? For me?"_

_Clearly not pleased about having to answer that question, Derek did so anyway, turning his body to face him. "It's possible. You are pack."_

_Stiles still got a kick out of it each time he heard that. "But human."_

_Derek nodded. "And you have other connections, other responsibilities. Isaac, Erica and Boyd...they don't really have anyone else."_

_While Stiles had his dad. He thought about the others in his pack. Allison was still really only an honorary member - she and Derek were still trying to make their peace with each other - but she might well choose to stay in Beacon Hills, too, what with her dad being the only close family she had left. But Lydia and Jackson... "I can't see Lydia and Jackson going to community college."_

_"No," Derek agreed. "But they'll make a point to go somewhere together. At least they'll have that."_

_Staring at the wealth of paper spread out across the table in front of him, Stiles felt more overwhelmed than ever. Thanksgiving was coming up, fast, and if he wanted any chance at getting into a good school he needed to do this ASAP. At least it was about something _normal_ , for once. He should probably be grateful._

_Then again, going to a state or community school would definitely give him more thinking time - and breathing room._

_Ugh, this was horrible._

_"I know I have to do the thing that's right, that's best for me." He sighed. "But I don't want to be away from my Dad. Or you." He flicked his gaze towards Derek, before it quickly skittered away. "Or the rest of the pack. I'm just...I'm the only thing Dad has left, you know? I have you guys now and that's **amazing** ," he gestured in Derek's general direction, "more than I thought I'd ever have. But Dad only has me. Just me." He could feel a sad smile on his mouth, thinking of all the ways he'd managed to let Dad down. "Little old me."_

_Derek shifted quietly next to him. Leaned in a little closer. "That, um. Doesn't have to be the case."_

_Confused, Stiles turned his head to meet Derek's gaze. "What doesn't?"_

_"You, uh." Stiles didn't think he'd ever heard Derek sound so awkward about anything in his life - and that included the time he had to explain to Stiles that werewolves didn't 'do' knotting. "Being the only one there for your dad. I mean," Derek rushed on, "I'm always going to make sure he's safe-"_

_"I know that," Stiles interrupted without hesitation, reaching a hand out to touch Derek's forearm, because it was **true.** "Of course I know that."_

_Nodding, Derek continued. "But you don't have to be the only one there for him for...other problems. If he's had a bad day. Or...needs help cleaning out the gutters. Or something."_

_"I clean out the gutters," Stiles said mindlessly, seriously trying to work out exactly what Derek was saying without actually saying it at all. Because he clearly was trying to to say something without actually saying it at all, and wasn't that always the way with Derek?_

_He and Derek were friends now. Really good friends. There were some days where Stiles secretly - and guiltily - suspected that he was actually better friends with Derek now than he was with Scott, but that was something he was never admitting to anyone. It'd feel like he was betraying his bro-hood, or something. Derek was the only one who hadn't made some kind of comment when he'd come out, and Stiles was grateful for it. Not that any of them had been negative about it - and not that Stiles had technically come out to all of them himself. He'd told Dad and Scott and - honestly, he'd known that telling Scott would be just like telling everyone else, and had left his friend to do the dirty work with his blessing. So what if it made him a coward? He could live with it. Scott was so determined that no should be treated differently just for being who they were - werewolves and bisexuals alike - that he'd actually gone to each one of them and made it clear that this piece of news had better not be a problem._

_Really, he had two best friends._

_Sometimes he wondered if the whole embarrassing Healing Incident Thing (that was how Stiles thought of it now, with the capital letters and everything) had forged some kind of bond between him and Derek. They'd already been friends, the kind of friends created in battle, but after that night things had...changed. For the better, for once. The now-frequent movie nights that'd resulted afterward had become a highlight of the pack interactions, even though they'd only been happening for a couple of months. Then again, it really wasn't hard for movie nights to be the highlight of pack interactions when all of your previous pack interactions had involved lots of death, destruction and property damage._

_As a result, though, Stiles genuinely felt like he'd got to know Boyd, Isaac and Erica so much better. The whole pack wasn't always there - Lydia and Jackson were often busy with their many, many extra-curriculars - it was whatever combination of people that could make it on any particular night._

_But Stiles and Derek were always, always there, sitting next to each other on the same sofa they were sitting on now._

_And it was such a small thing. Such a small thing. But each time they sat there, watching another movie that Stiles had inevitably seen at least five times before and Derek just as inevitably pretended to be completely oblivious about (Derek had understandably missed out on a lot of pop culture, but he wasn't **that** ignorant), the near-constant constriction around his chest that was slowly starting to fade, eased._

_Just a little._

_"Well," Derek tried again. "If you needed help...cleaning out the gutters." That seriously sounded like a euphemism. "I could do that." He paused, looking like he was about to pee himself or something. "If you wanted."_

_Stiles never got a chance to reply. There was the sudden sound of choked laughter from the top of the stairs that led out of the warehouse, which meant Jackson had snuck in and was finding **something** entertaining. Immediately moving away from the sofa, Derek launched himself across the warehouse to see what Jackson was up to. Or maybe just get him to shut up. They definitely had a love/hate thing going on._

_Stiles, meanwhile, lounged back against the sofa again. Thought over everything Derek had been saying. And started contemplating the idea that was beginning to nudge at the edge of the mind._

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you to rhiannonhero! Feedback would be wonderful :)

Thankfully, no one had seemed to notice the flashback he'd experienced last period; no doubt helped by the fact that he was sitting down. It gave him a hell of a lot to think about (like he didn't have enough _already_ ) because, while Stiles hadn't felt as lost in that memory as he had in the earlier one - he'd mostly been kind of happy - it was still so much to deal with.

These occasional flashes of memory were useful - but also tortourous. They always gave him some kind of information, but not all of it. He kept swinging between not wanting to know anything and wanting to know _everything_. What'd happened to change so much? How had he and Derek gone from pushing each other against doors, to Stiles reading him the riot act about his crappy social skills, to happily picking through college destinations together? 

He couldn't help but wonder about the pieces that fit between those parts of the puzzle. And hell, where had he decided to apply to school anyway? And then, a smaller niggle, but there all the same - had that conversation with Derek influenced his choices at all? Even that thought flooded him with confusion. Would Current Stiles be pissed off with Previous Stiles's decisions?

All things considered, he was extremely relieved when he walked out of school with Scott and Allison and saw Dad's car waiting in the parking lot. Getting a quick hug from both of them, and following assurances from each of them that they'd all see each other the next day, Stiles hightailed it for the car.

"So glad you're here," Stiles breathed out as he collapsed into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut.

"Rough day?"

"Frustrating," he said honestly, pulling his seat belt on. "Confusing. Tiring." Honestly, it was only his own stubborness that got him through that last period.

Starting the engine, Dad checked the mirror and started backing out. "Wanna talk about it?"

He kind of did, but...half of it Dad didn't know about, and generally he just didn't have the energy. "Just want to sleep, to be honest. I had another memory, though," he mentioned, because Dad deserved to know. When Dad asked for more information, Stiles just said it was about picking colleges. This was around an extremely impressive yawn, at which point Dad told him to quit his yammering which Stiles didn't find rude only because he knew Dad wanted him to rest.

He may have fallen asleep in the car.

Stiles knew this for a fact when Dad shook him awake, but once in the house he headed straight upstairs with Dad's voice right behind him, telling him he'd wake him for dinner. Stiles didn't even remember his head hitting the pillow, but when his phone buzzed some time later he startled awake, face down on the bed, pillow creases etched into his face. Fumbling around for his phone, still fully dressed, Stiles eventually held it up to his face, squinting a little as his eyes adjusted to the small screen.

_**From: Derek**  
How was it?_

Yup. That sure was Mr 'We'll Give You Some Space' right there.

It was probably a bad idea to call the guy he found attractive and who, he was just beginning to realise, maybe actually liked him back when he was this sleepy.

Stiles was full of bad ideas. He just didn't usually act on them, that was all.

"Stiles?"

"I cannot even begin to tell how strange today was," Stiles told him, voice half-slurred against a pillow. There was no reason to move. Nope, none at all. It was really quite comfortable.

Derek's voice was warm. "I can imagine."

"Can you?" he asked. "Can you, Derek? Have you had amnesia?"

"Well, no-"

"Then you really can't imagine," Stiles told him and he'd totally forgotten how snappy he could turn when he got this tired. He immediately overcompensated. "But, you know, thanks for texting because that was really nice of you and everything even though you said you were giving me space - not that I want you to, um. So. Yeah. How about those Mets, huh? Actually," he pondered, "how have the Mets been doing?"

Being Derek - and already, Stiles was beginning to realise this was something Derek did - he ignored pretty much everything Stiles had just said. "How was it a strange day, then?"

Stiles was still tired, but he was warm and comfortable and Derek's voice was right by his ear. He could almost imagine that Derek was right there next to him.

Oh, this was so bad. But he did actually want to talk about it.

So he did talk. He told Derek about the weirdness going in, about people alternately staring at him or suddenly acting like they _liked_ him, about the over-enthusiastic principal and the weight of Dad's hopes, about how generous each of his teachers had been but how he'd still felt lost anyway when he'd always, always been good at school, and it wasn't that he wasn't good now, he just didn't know the things that everyone else did. He told Derek about confronting Scott - although not the manscaping comment - and hanging out with the others, and the extra weirdness of still dealing with the whole idea of not only werewolves existing, but his friends actually being said werewolves. And he told him how he was remembering more and more, but in bits and pieces that were frustrating more than anything else, and he absolutely didn't mention remembering that whole awkward 'cleaning out the gutters' conversation, because, just. No.

After a few moments of silence, all Derek said was, "Sounds like a good reason to be tired."

Really? That was all he was going with? "Are you, like, the poster boy for understatement or something? Seriously, there has to be an actual poster of you plastered somewhere with a huge neon sign across your body reading, _Get Your Understatement Here_!"

"Wow," Derek remarked casually, and Stiles was pretty damn sure that 'wow' was not a word Derek used very often. If at all. "It's almost like you haven't been hit on the head at all."

There were several ways that comment could be read. _You sound just like you always do. Hey, you're totally being obnoxious as always! You just don't shut up, do you_? Honestly, it could've been either one - or all - of them. "I'll take that as a compliment," he tried to say haughtily, but the effect was no doubt ruined by the whole slurring into his pillow thing. It was probably only down to Derek's enhanced hearing that he'd understood anything Stiles had said at all.

"Stiles! Dinner's ready!"

Stiles jerked his head up again. "And there's the Dinner Call of the Lesser Spotted Stilinski."

"Better make sure you go so you can catch him."

Grinning sleepily, Stiles rolled himself over onto his back. "Is this something we do often?" he asked. "The phone thing?"

"It's usually just text messages."

Stiles nodded to himself. Bit his bottom lip. Thought about how much he'd enjoyed it. "We should do this more often."

Derek was quiet for a while before responding. "I'm not much for talking," he admitted, which, hello, wasn't exactly a secret even to Amnesia Stiles. "But if you're happy to talk while I don't say much at all, I don't mind."

"I feel like that statement should be made the other way round," Stiles said, because if anything he should be apologising for talking so damn much. "But you got yourself a deal Mr Lack of Talky-Pants." And then he quickly hung up, so he couldn't horribly embarrass himself any further.

Stiles scoffed down his dinner - to be honest, he wouldn't be able to tell anyone who asked what he actually ate - and though he was still tired, when he went back to his room he made a point of thoroughly reading over the notes Principal Brooks had given him. After checking his class schedule for Wednesday, he went online to study up on exactly what he'd been missing. There was no way in hell he was letting himself feel as lost tomorrow as he had today, not when he could actually do something about it.

That was pretty much how his week went. School. Reading online to catch-up. Talking to Derek. Sleeping. He was still regaining memories, too, although he was kind of getting used to them, now. They weren't all about Derek, either, which was something of a relief. He knew he'd had Derek on the brain lately, but honestly, even Stiles knew that between Derek and the werewolf thing? The werewolf thing should've been way more front and centre in his thought processes, despite his growing concerns that he'd been...damaged, somehow, since finding out they existed. Derek was just very...distracting.

Not that he wasn't learning more about werewolves, because he totally was. Scott, Isaac, Boyd, Erica and Jackson answered pretty much any question he could think up about werewolves, even some of the stupider ones ("No, Stiles," Boyd had said with a sigh, "you can't tell our mood from our ears the way you can with a dog." Honestly, what was the point of even being a werewolf?). And his phone calls with Derek tended to end up on the subject at one point or another.

It was in the middle of all this that Stiles finally put it together and realised that not only was Allison from a family of _werewolf hunters_ , but that her Aunt Kate had pretty much wiped out Derek's family - including children - just for existing in the first place. And Scott was _dating her_.

"Dude," Stiles had said to an unbelievably-calm-about-this Scott, "are you _crazy_?"

"I know, you said that the first time," Scott shrugged, which just proved Stiles was awesome in any incarnation. "But it's love, you know? You can't help it. You just know it, through and through, balls to bone."

"You're a moron," Stiles said, slapping him around the head. "And stop quoting the Matrix movies. That's my job." If Scott could remember what he did in class the way he remembered quotes from movies, he'd never have any problem keeping his grades up.

It was during one of his evening phone calls to Derek, asking for more specifics about pack hierachy, that he remembered another memory.

_Stiles' side was killing him. Frankly, he was lucky he hadn't done anything more than bruise his ribs, although he was fairly certain the Alphas had wanted to make more of an example of Derek and his wolves than anything else. He'd certainly got off a hell of a lot lighter than the others, that was for sure._

_He grabbed what existed of Derek's first aid supplies - really not much to work with; Stiles needed to do something about that, maybe speak to Scott's mom. Scott had been trying to keep her from knowing anything was going on to protect her, but they couldn't keep doing this. Humans like he and Lydia were involved, now, and you couldn't count on them on heal quickly. And, he thought sadly, looking at the three bodies Lydia was kneeling over, you couldn't count on werewolves to heal quickly from an Alpha attack, either._

_"Here," he said, limping over to her - just a sprained ankle, thank God. "Best we can do for now."_

_Eyeing the dismal supplies, Lydia nonetheless straightened her back and nodded. Stiles carefully knelt down next to her, and between the two of them they did what they could to patch up the worst of the injuries. Derek, as usual - okay, so he had been better lately - wasn't being much use, taking his considerable anger out on a wall on the other side of the warehouse._

_Stiles sighed, because dealing with Derek when he was like this had somehow become his job. "You okay if I...?" He gestured to the far side of the warehouse._

_"I'm sure as hell not going over there," Lydia said bluntly, which he took as permission, painfully getting to his feet as he left Lydia to tend to Scott, Isaac and Jackson._

_Derek must've known he was there waiting, but he kept attacking the wall like it'd personally insulted his mom or something. Stiles was unimpressed. "You know we're gonna need that, right? Otherwise the next time it rains we're all gonna get really wet and you'll never get the smell of wet dog out of here."_

_He did, at least, stop attacking the wall, claws slowly receeding back into this fingers. "Not the dog jokes," Derek said, panting. "Not now Stiles, seriously."_

_Okay, so maybe the timing was off. "Sorry." He cleared his throat, trying to find something positive to stay. Derek may have been a pessimist on the outside but he was an optimist on the inside and Stiles was his polar opposite. He couldn't show it, though, or they'd really be screwed. These little pep talks he'd been giving Derek - okay, so they were really more like lists of the all the ways Derek was screwing up, with some metaphorical cheerleading thrown in - seemed to slowly be working and the last thing he needed Derek to do was backtrack. "On the upside, no one died."_

_"Barely," Derek remarked, turning angrily, and yeah - he still looked like hell himself, shirt torn to pieces, his chest a criss-cross of painful-looking wounds._

_"But it could've gone a lot worse, right?" Stiles argued. "It went badly - very badly, I'll admit - but no one actually died. There has to be a reason they didn't finish us off. They must see something in you." There had to be, there had to be **something** beyond the Alpha Pack attacking them and leaving them alive with no idea what was coming next, besides cruel vindictiveness. The last thing Stiles needed was another enemy who screwed with their heads just because they enjoyed it. His body was barely holding it together with the endless lacrosse training and these skirmishes with the Alpha Pack. He didn't know how much longer his mind could hold out, either._

_"They see me as _weak_ ," Derek spat. "This is just another test to see how I'll react, what choices I'll make."_

_That was probably true. An Alpha pack coming to town not long after a new Alpha rose to power wasn't unusual, or so Derek had told him. They were kind of unofficial watchdogs (watchdogs, heh), there to see if the new Alpha was ready, worthy to take on the responsibility._

_If they were found wanting, they were taken out of the equation. Permanently._

_Unfortunately, Derek was convinced the Alpha Pack were seeing him as a weak leader. Unfortunately, he was probably right._

_So he needed to run with that idea, because they needed to do something and Derek feeling sorry for himself never ended up anywhere good. "Okay, so they think you're a crappy leader already, right?" Derek glared at him and Stiles just rolled his eyes. "So then run with that. Go to them, show them that you know you've made mistakes, that you have been weak in the past - but you're getting better." Because that, at least, was the absolute truth. "Own your mistakes. Show them that you're learning from them. That you're improving - because you totally are, Derek." Stiles gestured vaguely behind him, where the werewolves were laying. "Sure, we got our asses kicked, but Scott's legitimately part of your pack, now. That never would've happened before. Hell, you even got Jackson in!" Okay, so that was mostly Lydia's doing, but Stiles was totally glossing over that fact right now. "You've already got most of the band together. And if you can convince them that they should let Boyd and Erica go, that you deserve to have them back - I'm telling you, we'll have the biggest werewolf supergroup the West Coast has ever seen!"_

_And he may have been even more maniacally enthusiastic than usual, with desperate hand gestures and loud words, but if they didn't do this, if they didn't get this **done** he was pretty sure he was going to fly apart into a million pieces._

_Which would be gross. Also messy._

_Derek was staring at him like he couldn't believe that Stiles had that much faith in him - or like he was crazy, it was a surprisingly very fine line - but before he could say anything, the sound of someone clapping interrupted._

_Stiles spun around to see Peter Hale casually leaning against the old train carriage, smirking. Ugh, this was just what they needed. "He has a point," Peter said as the clapping stopped. "He usually does, though."_

_He knew where this was headed already. "No back-up singers, please." Derek moved even as Stiles spoke, positioning himself between them._

_"Excuse me," Peter replied, sounding incredibly put-out and personally offended, "but back-up singers are **highly** underrated professionals. All the work, none of the glory." Pushing himself away from the train, he took a few deliberate steps forward. "But then there are a few of us here who know how that feels, hmm?" He looked at Stiles before turning his head to smile ingratiatingly in Lydia's direction. She was still kneeling next to the others, wide-eyed and horrified, but from the way her hands were moving around, Stiles was pretty damn sure she was searching for something to use as a weapon._

_"He's right," Derek told Peter bluntly. "Get out. We don't want or need your help."_

_"Oh, Derek," Peter sighed, making the name sound like a caress, "we both know that's not true."_

"-are you all right? Stiles?"

Shaking his head, Stiles straightened up in his computer chair, trying to focus back on the present. That memory had been pretty much everything he didn't want, had been trying not to think about. "Sorry. I...had another memory."

Derek's voice was definitely calmer when he spoke again. "What of?"

"The...fall-out from the big fight when the Alphas had Boyd and Erica? I think?" Piecing these bits and pieces together was so not fun. "And you were having a hissy fit?"

Derek was quiet for a while. "You and I remember that very differently."

There was a spark of humour, there, the kind he was learning Derek gave from time to time. He would've appreciated it more but that memory had been full of so many things that weren't good.

Understatement, _seriously._

Stiles hadn't even really realised he'd just been sitting there saying nothing, until Derek spoke again.

"What's wrong?"

Trying to shake himself out of it, Stiles shifted in his chair. "What makes you think something's wrong?"

"You're not talking," Derek pointed out simply. "That was the deal. You talk. I don't. You're not doing your part. Something's wrong."

It all sounded very logical when Derek spelled it out like that. But, quite honestly, Stiles didn't even know how to respond. Didn't know if he should respond. He'd been telling himself to ignore it, that the occasional strange memory and the feelings that came with it didn't have to mean anything. He had brain damage, for crying out loud - how could he be sure that he was even remembering things correctly in the first place?

But.

_But._

He knew. He knew that he was. And there was more and more evidence piling up, convincing him that maybe actually remembering everything wouldn't be such a great idea.

This wasn't the kind of crap he normally would've discussed with anyone. His feelings, his _real_ feelings didn't get discussed with anyone - not since Mom died, not since Dad had been incapable of dealing with his own grief, let alone his son's.

But there were other memories, too. Other feelings he remembered. He thought back to the memory of him and Derek looking through colleges, of the things he'd thought about him and he _knew_ that Derek had known him. All of him, inside-out, in a way that no one - not even Scott - ever had.

Maybe that was why he said it. "I think..." His voice caught, because how did he say this? It was based on fragmented memories and feelings and a twist in his gut that told him it was all true. "I think there's something wrong with me. With him."

_Yes._

"The things I'm remembering about me...him..." Stiles licked his lips. "It's not who I am now. Or the way I was, before Scott got turned. I was good before," he rushed on, eager to explain now that he'd started. "Not perfect, but good. And I'm good now - or I was - but then the memories..." He shook his head. "The Stiles in those memories..."

Derek didn't treat him like he was crazy, just asked a question. "What was he like?"

"Lost," he said immediately. "Desperate. God, so desperate. And I'm not sure if I want to remember what made me that way."

There it was. The truth.

God, and now that it was out he was seriously regretting it, because he _remembered_ knowing Derek but he still didn't really know him _now_ and he'd just dumped all of that craziness on him like it was the right thing to do.

There was a resounding silence and Stiles panicked, desperately latching on to the last thing he'd been talking about. "Peter was there. In the memory. We ended up working with him, right?" He waited, holding an anxious breath, because he'd wanted to get those fears out but not actually _talk_ about it, not really. Derek, thank God, either understood or was conveniently psychic.

...he really hoped Derek wasn't actually psychic. That would be all kinds of embarrassing.

"Not the only time, unfortunately," Derek sighed and Stiles could've kissed him for purely platonic reasons.

He gladly took the the distraction. "Was it a mistake?" Peter sure as hell didn't seem like the type of guy you could trust.

Derek didn't give a straight answer, though. "He always has an agenda."

That didn't come as a surprise, either. From the little he'd seen, remembered and been told, Peter probably thought 12 steps ahead of everyone else at all times. Stiles couldn't help but be curious, though. "Scott told me some of your...history with him. Your sister." He stopped, suddenly, in case that'd been too much, but Derek didn't say anything. He'd lost so much already, but then to have his sister taken away from him, too... "But...I'd like to hear it from your perspective." His voice may have been pleading a little more than usual. "If you wouldn't mind." Honestly, for once, he didn't want the burden of conversation on him. His equilibrium was shaken and he just wanted to sit and listen as someone else spoke, to be the passive half of a conversation, be comforted by an oddly familiar voice and just share in whatever they had to say.

Derek somehow knew that, too. But what he finally said wasn't at all what Stiles expected.

He told Stiles about Laura. About the kind of big sister she was, how she endlessly teased but always protected him. How being Alpha was never supposed to be his role and he was fine with that. How she was always so much larger than life than he was, but never left him behind in the shadows. How she looked out for him at school, and complained about having to go with him every single morning but never left without him. How she turned into a literal monster when he beat her at board games and how she was always, always faster when they went running.

"That Derek," he said eventually, completely surprising Stiles. "The Derek before. He was good, too. And then things got...complicated."

Stiles was stunned, frankly. From the little he knew about the guy, it seemed obvious - hell, it was more than obvious - that Derek wasn't usually the type to talk about that kind of stuff, anymore than Stiles really was. Although...from that fumbling conversation he'd remembered about gutters, it seemed obvious that as they'd got to know each other, Derek had started opening up more. It was that knowledge that pressed Stiles into responding now, because he had a feeling Derek had just given him something worth having. "Is this your way of telling me you understand?" he asked quietly. "That old Derek, Laura's Derek, if he were here in the same situation...he'd feel the same way I do right now?" 

Of course now, _now_ Derek suddenly got all uncommunicative.

Complete. Silence.

Stiles twitched nervously. "Um, did I say something, 'cause I didn't mean-" He decided to just shift tracks. "Hey, you know, thanks for telling me all that. For what it's worth, I like this Derek just fine."

"I have to go," Derek suddenly blurted, abruptly ending the call.

Honestly, it wasn't a huge surprise when it happened. Derek had probably never been that emotionally open with anyone in his life - or in years, at least. It was Friday tomorrow, at least, so Stiles knew he'd see him soon as at the weekend they all had tentative plans to meet up to show Stiles exactly what they were capable of.

Stiles had been looking forward to it. Now he wasn't sure how he felt.

But mostly as he sat there in his bedroom, hand still clutching the phone, he was thinking about the way Derek had just helped him. The way his voice sounded when he'd spoken about his sister, all the little moments he could remember from now and from - before.

This was bad. This was really, really bad. Stiles may have had amnesia, but he was pretty sure he was in love.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you to rhiannonhero! Feedback would be wonderful :) 
> 
> Hate to have to do this, but I'm gonna have to stop posting for a few days. RL has unfortunately got in the way :-\ Really sorry.

It didn't suddenly make anything simple. Stiles didn't have this realisation, run off to find Derek and then they got their Big Gay Happy Ever After. For a start, he didn't even know where Derek lived (was it still that warehouse place Stiles'd had a few memories of? Because if so, Derek really needed to upgrade).

More importantly, he was only _pretty_ sure he was in love. And he didn't mean _him_ him, he meant the...other him. Previous Stiles.

The problem was, Stiles only knew Derek in what felt like fragmented bits and pieces. They'd actually spent very little time together, one-on-one, since he'd woken up and yes, Derek may have been mostly pretty darn friendly and yes, Derek may have been ridiculously attractive, but Stiles was still getting to know him. Previous Stiles, on the other hand, had had well over a year of interactions with him that Stiles now was still only getting to see pieces of. They'd gone from threats to reluctant allies to friendship to...whatever it was they were now, and though Stiles was remembering more every day it was still all hugely confusing.

Mostly because, when he did remember something, he could also feel the emotions Previous Stiles had felt at that moment. He didn't yet know if Previous Stiles had had any kind of self-realisation about the kind of feelings he had towards Derek, but from an objective (ha!) viewpoint, it was blatantly obvious that he'd been a goner for Derek. Maybe it was easier to recognise, as a kind of outsider? He didn't have all those memories of Derek, of getting to know him, of their relationship changing, progressing. Maybe each stage of their relationship had slowly, quietly, transformed into something else, before Previous Stiles had had any idea what was happening. 

As someone who was only catching the occasional glimpse, Stiles now could definitely say that Previous Stiles wanted Derek like white wanted to get on rice.

He, personally, didn't love Derek.

But he was pretty sure he could.

And it was totally messed up because he was talking about Previous Stiles like he was someone else entirely, but he wasn't, they were the _same person_ and honestly, the soaps had never made amnesia out to be this damn confusing.

He didn't know what the hell to do about it either, but he had to do something because Stiles always had to be doing _something_.

(And it seemed a much, much better idea to focus on this, on Derek specifically because it was so much better focusing on the less disturbing memories, like picking through colleges with Derek, than say the memories where they were _fighting for their lives_ and it felt like his head was about to fly off his shoulders from the stress tearing him apart. People were bleeding and dying and _too much too much too much_.)

So.

Derek it was.

He was pretty sure that Previous Stiles had begun suspecting Derek was interested in him but he found it generally very annoying that he couldn't just ask Previous Stiles about it, or demand that his brain spit out all the appropriate memories so he'd know for sure, already, like a snack machine where he could pick memories instead of snacks (although...peanut butter cups...).

He was pretty sure about how Previous Stiles felt. Now he needed to know how Derek felt. Basically, he needed more information, period.

So on Friday, after he was dropped off at school - and physically feeling way more like himself since waking up in the hospital, thank God - he decided on a plan of attack. Stage One: ascertain if Derek was even interested in regular humans in the first place. It didn't seem wildly out of the realm of existence, but you never knew. Werewolves could probably be snobs, too.

Erica was the first person he saw. They'd only ever spent time with each other as part of the group and she would've been gorgeously intimidating one-on-one, but after seeing her handing those twenty dollars to Boyd, that made her a little more human. Or...werewolvey. Whatever.

"More questions?" she asked, because that was pretty much all he did when he spoke to them, now.

"Yes," he agreed, nodding rapidly. "Questions. Definitely."

She frowned at him, closing her locker. "You're being even stranger than usual. But apparently I have a thing for strange. Come on." Smiling, she lead him along the corridor.

Stiles started out with a few totally casual questions, easing into the subject so she hopefully wouldn't see it coming. Eventually, he reached his target. "So...you mind if I ask how it works?"

"How what works?" she asked, head bowed as she searched through her bag for something.

He absolutely didn't clear his throat. "Relationships between..." he lowered his voice to a whisper, knowing only she'd be able to hear. "Werewolves." Her head immediately came back up as she narrowed her eyes at him. Stiles definitely didn't start sweating more. "I mean, I was just thinking, that's all," he rambled on quickly, "that the romantic relationships I've seen in the group are, like...werewolf-human hybrids," he joked, really, really badly. "Scott and Allison. Lydia and Jackson." He paused, then, because he really didn't know if anything was going on with any combination of Erica, Boyd and Isaac, and decided it was probably best not mentioning them at all. Plus, it would've totally ruined the 'werewolves and humans as lovers' theory he was spinning.

"So?" she asked, giving up on whatever it was she'd been looking for, letting her bag swing down to hang by her side.

"Just seemed funny, that's all." He forced a shrug. "One of those things, you know. That in a pack of..." He deliberately didn't finish the sentence, instead widening his eyes as if to say _werewolves_. "None of the..." He widened his eyes again. Erica rolled hers.

Okay, okay.

"Look, my point is," he rushed on, "it just seems weird that in a...group of people who have a furry time of the month, none of those furry time of the month people are actually getting down with each other." Tipping her head to one side, Erica made a sound that totally said, _hmm, I think I see what you're getting at. Also, I should totally buy you donuts later._

A man could dream.

"I mean," he continued, oh-so-casually, "is that normal? Human-on-werewolf? Has..." here it went "...Derek ever said anything about it?"

The forced casualness must've worked, miracle of miracles, because she wasn't even looking at him as she thought it over. "He hasn't really said anything about that side of things - doesn't seem to be his area of expertise," she added with a conspiring glance, like this was information Stiles should have already. "Although the less said about his attempt at a werewolf safe-sex lecture, the better."

Scrunching his nose up, Stiles didn't even want to know.

...okay, so he totally did.

...wait. Did werewolves count as bestiality?

"I don't think it matters if it's another werewolf or a human," she shrugged, distracting him - _thank God_ \- from that particular line of thinking. "And I know for a fact that Derek himself has been with-" Erica stopped, suddenly, her gaze suddenly zeroing in on his. " _Oh._ "

Uh oh.

She still kept staring at him. "You're remembering more."

She said it decisively, like she was absolutely certain, like there was something about Derek _worth_ remembering. "I did tell you guys that," he said truthfully because hey, totally not a liar. Honest.

"You did," she acknowledged, "but something tells me you're being picky about telling us what you do and don't remember." Stiles tried to look not in any way guilty, starting in surprise when Erica moved suddenly, throwing her arm around his shoulder. "I'll tell you this much," she smiled at him, "the three of us think the two of you are actually kind of adorable - if really stupid - but it's not the focus of our lives, okay?" And, well. That was incredibly blunt, but at least it told him how she, Isaac and Boyd were viewing his relationship with Derek. And they pretty much lived with the guy, so they probably had a good insight. "We have shit to be doing. That said," she said pleasantly enough, "I understand things are weird for you right now and you're just trying to figure stuff out. So someone should probably tell you that Peter seems weirdly invested in whatever your relationship with Derek is. Seriously, he actually brought the subject up with us the other day and he knows we still want to literally rip his face off, so that probably tells you all you need to know."

There was so much he was unable to process about that revelation right now.

Erica suddenly turned serious, then, all good mood vanishing, the arm around his shoulders tightening to an alarming degree. "Derek has been with a human," she told him firmly, "but we don't talk about it. Not even me." She glared down at him, like he was seriously about to go running through the school yelling about werewolves and Derek's sexual history or something. "We never. Talk. About it."

And then suddenly she was letting go - which was good, because he was pretty sure some of the bones around his shoulders had been grinding together - making a quick exit with a smile on her face.

"See you later!" she called cheerily. "Have a good day!"

Well. There was a lot to take in.

And now there was even more he needed to investigate.

*

As downright bizarre as his conversation with Erica had been, it had alleviated some of his curiousity. It seemed to pretty much confirm that at least some of the pack thought or knew that he and Derek liked each other, so at least it wasn't a one-sided thing. He still wanted as much information as possible, however - especially after the way Erica had sparked his interest in Derek's history with humans - and when he arrived at the cafeteria, he saw his chance.

Out of their group Boyd was the only other one who'd arrived so far. Stiles didn't even line up for lunch, just scooted straight over to their table, parking himself at the other side and smiling brightly at Boyd.

Boyd, who evidently, had already spoken to Erica. "I'm not telling you anything."

"Come on!" Stiles urged, flopping the palms of his hands down onto the table. "She was all...evil and stuff. She totally left me wanting more."

"She does that," Boyd agreed.

Stiles suddenly realised how that sounded. "Not like..." Boyd raised his eyebrows, like Stiles was being a dumbass. Fair enough. "But then she got all...protective about Derek. Like... _really_." The soreness in his shoulders was testament to that fact.

"It's the Alpha bond," Boyd explained. "Once it's formed properly..." he shrugged. "Much as she pretends to hate him sometimes, she'd do anything to protect him. We all would." He eyed Stiles significantly.

That was just offensive. He spluttered. "Well it's not like _I'm_ going to hurt him. I still barely know him!"

"And there-in lies the problem."

Stiles was going to ask more, he was, because that seemed to imply a whole hell of a lot - but then the others started arriving and Stiles didn't think, just reached across the table and grabbed Boyd's wrist. "I knew before, right?" Boyd nodded tightly. Good. "So why can't I know now?"

Boyd glanced down at his wrist, not responding until Stiles let go. "Because you're better off remembering yourself," Boyd said mysteriously, before adding a stern, "If you care about him at all, Stiles, you need to drop it."

Then they were both sitting back, brushing off the strange looks Isaac and Jackson were shooting them. Hopping out of his seat, mind running over everything he'd heard today, Stiles got into line for food and could really only think two things:

He may have been still getting to know Derek, but he already cared enough about him to actually let it drop.

And based on what he did remember, Derek really had become a better Alpha.

*

He found Lydia standing outside after school, using her thumb to flick through something on her phone, free arm wrapped about her body to stave off the slight chill in the air.

She didn't even have to look at him to know he was there, and Stiles was starting to suspect that she secrectly was a werewolf and just wasn't telling anyone.

"Just so you know," she said as she flicked through to something else, "Erica texted everyone this morning to tell them about your little quest."

That explained a lot. "It wasn't a...quest," he argued, "and anyway, she was the one who-" Lydia shot him a look and he shut up instantly.

Yeah, apparently she was still capable of doing that. Not that she'd really been aware that he'd existed before - at least as far as he remembered - but he had been on the receiving end of that look a couple of times, usually when he was in her way.

One of the other issues with this whole 'feelings for Derek' thing was the fact that he'd been infatuated with Lydia for years. Sure, he'd figured a few things out when they'd all come over to his house, but feelings like that - and that'd been felt for that long - didn't just go away. Even as he looked at her now, there was still a mild kind of yearning, the want to make her happy.

But it didn't feel anything like the way he felt during some of the memories with Derek.

"Can I ask you something?" He received another look then, and quickly explained. "About something tangentially related but technically really not?"

Lowering her phone, she eventually nodded.

"After we became...friends." And that was still a strange, strange concept. He'd finally got to know Lydia, but not in the way he'd always hoped for. And ironically, now he was having to get to know her all over again. "You knew I have...had a thing for you. Right?" It was vaguely humiliating, especially as it was obvious that she'd never liked him back - but his need to find out what he wanted to know outweighed even that.

Pausing, a vulnerability that she rarely showed at school - and definitely not in front of him - passed across her face. "I knew. Yes."

They eyed each other awkwardly, until Stiles remembered he was the one who'd actually started this conversation in the first place. "When did it stop?"

She slipped her phone into her jacket pocket. "How much do you remember?"

"More," he shrugged, "but still only bits and pieces."

Biting her bottom lip, she nodded slowly. "Jackson and I...had some problems. Which is putting it incredibly mildly." Scott had mentioned something about that, and somewhere during the last few days of constant questions Stiles had found out that Jackson had been a lizard at some point. It'd quickly become obvious that it was a sore point and no one liked talking about it much - in the same way that everyone would conspicuously not-talk about Allison's mom or grandfather - so he hadn't gained much more detail. He probably would've had a bigger reaction to the news that Jackson used to be a lizard but he was already having to deal with werewolves. A giant lizard didn't seem as startling as it would've otherwise been - especially when he wasn't one anymore, so Stiles couldn't see what Jackson looked like all lizarded-out anyway.

Yeah, Stiles had pouted about that for a while.

"He..." Lydia's voice caught on the emotion she was trying to hold back. "He actually died. Right in front of me." Oh, _shit_. Stiles had had no idea it'd been that bad! "And then he came back." His eyes were moist but she was smiling softly now, mostly to herself. "We stopped taking each other for granted and I think...I think after that..." She sniffed, shrugging at him. "We never talked about it. But after that you only ever tried to be my friend."

He shoved his hands into his pockets, appreciating the hell out of everything she'd just given him. "Thanks." That sounded really inadequate. "Sorry."

Stiles remembered a time when she wouldn't have told him any of that. Remembered a time where if she had been upset for any reason, she would've immediately pulled out a compact mirror, checking her flawless make-up.

She still had the flawless make-up, but that was about it.

Stiles had been intending to ask more, ask when she thought things between him and Derek had changed - she was still Lydia and still smarter than everyone else - but he just...couldn't, now. "So," he began awkwardly, going full-steam ahead on this whole friend thing. "How's your week been?"

She smiled again. "Shouldn't I be asking _you_ that question?"

He grinned, because - well, she was right. He told her how frustrating it'd been on his first day back, but that it was getting a little better every day. The extra studying in the evenings was definitely paying off, and he was glad he was putting the effort in. He still felt mostly lost, but at least he was doing something about it instead of sitting on his ass and moaning about it.

Pulling out her phone, Lydia checked the time. "Where is he?" she asked, complaining. "Honestly, he should just admit he wants a threesome with Danny instead of spending all this time with him."

Stiles opened his mouth but nothing came out - because really, that was not an unpleasant mental image. But then Jackson was there, kind-of-playfully teasing Stiles about not going to practise once this week - hello, brain injury; Coach had been scary enough about Stiles not being allowed to do Gym Class, never mind lacrosse - and then he was escorting Lydia towards his car.

Jackson pulled her close. "You okay? And what was that about a threesome?"

Stiles was saved from anymore interesting mental images when Scott and Isaac arrived. "Thank God," he said, because he wouldn't have been surprised if said interesting images had ended up giving up a very public private problem. "Let's get going."

Scott had asked him at lunch if he was feeling up to visiting Dr Deaton with him and Isaac tonight, see if it would prompt any memories. He had to work and apparently Dr Deaton had helped them out numerous times in the past - whatever that meant - and though Isaac didn't technically work there, he just really liked coming along to see the animals. Maybe it was a werewolf thing.

Stiles had hesistated briefly, mostly because his brain was still thinking it might be a good idea not to remember certain things. Ultimately deciding to go - Scott knew him too well, would be all confused about Stiles not wanting to remember everything - he called his dad and got the all clear - after a very long discussion about knowing limits and not doing too much too soon, and the whole thing sounded entirely too much like that 'no means no' talk Dad had given him when he turned 15. He didn't have his car of course so the three of them walked together, Scott walking his bike alongside them. The vet clinic wasn't a million miles away, and on the way Scott and Isaac filled Stiles in on a few facts about Dr Deaton - who turned out to be a total _badass_.

And then _Stiles_ turned out to be a total badass.

"I used magic? _I_ did? _Me_?"

Scott and Isaac were grinning at him. "Yeah, you did," Scott told him, obviously thoroughly entertained by Stiles' reaction.

Whatever. Magic! Magic? Magic was a real thing? And okay, werewolves and were-lizards were real too so the idea probably shouldn't have been this exciting - but this was something _he'd_ done. "Am _I_ magic?" He glanced down at his fingers, like that would tell him anything about it at all.

"That's not how it works," Isaac told him, which was disappointing. "At least not according to Deaton. A person isn't magic, but then can learn to use it. If they have-"

Something tickled at the edge of Stiles' brain. Almost a memory. A phrase. "Be the spark," he said because it felt _right_ and both Scott and Isaac had frozen in place, staring at him, smiles slowly spreading over their faces. He knew what that meant.

But yet - why hadn't he known about this sooner?

"You guys suck," he told them and they looked startled because it'd seemingly come out of nowhere for them, but seriously? "I can do magic! And you didn't think to tell me?" And yes, he was aware of the extreme irony, of not wanting to know certain things yet wanting to know absolutely everything about something else - he'd never claimed to be perfect. But _Stiles_. Doing _magic._

Scott shrugged apologetically. "It's hard to know how much is too much-"

"This is just like the thing with me and Derek." And whoops, he'd totally said that out loud - but they were looking at him curiously now and maybe he could use this opportunity to get a few more answers. "You guys got the text too, right?" They were both really, really bad at trying to look like they didn't know what he was talking about, both of them suddenly staring up at the sky. "I'll take that as a yes," Stiles said testily. "Seriously, guys, all I'm trying to do is work out this Derek thing, because...well, there's a thing to work out, I think." He stared at them, taking in their silence. "It feels important. Because it was important. Right?"

The two of them shared a look, and then Scott started talking. "I'm not always the fastest at picking this stuff up," he admitted, "but like I said before, you guys are definitely closer than you used to be. I mean, I don't know if it's making out closer-"

"Not so far," Isaac said definitively, which was extremely interesting. And probably intrusive, hinting that Derek wasn't the only one in the pack with lurker tendencies.

Scott nodded. "Okay. Well, you've definitely been a lot closer lately and I've been told," his gaze flicked briefly to Isaac, who failed at looking innocent again, "that it's really obvious that Derek likes you."

"Really, really obvious," Isaac agreed, nodding enthusiastically.

And. Well. That pretty much confirmed it, right? Previous Stiles liked Derek. Derek liked Previous Stiles. There were still things Stiles was _insanely_ curious about, but he had the basics.

But still...

"Seriously, you guys need to _tell me this stuff_!"

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you to rhiannonhero! Feedback would be wonderful :) 
> 
> *shakes fist at Real Life*
> 
> While I was away, an AMAZING fic cover was randomly made by betafangs over on tumblr, [here](http://betafangs.tumblr.com/post/30584877475/this-is-an-e-book-cover-for-suzvoys-fic-except). I was so thrilled and surprised! :D :D :D THANK YOU!!! I've also posted it at the top of this chapter, just because :D

*

*

The vet clinic and Dr Deaton himself were both somewhat familiar, as Scott had got the job a few months before the amnesia blackout. Honestly, Stiles had always found Dr Deaton kind of weird, but knowing what he knew now about the kind of crap they were often stuck in the middle of, Dr Deaton now just seemed appropriately mysterious and wise.

There was an awkward re-introduction and then Dr Deaton was asking Scott and Isaac to take the food out to the dog cages. One thing that had changed was the amount of barking the dogs had been doing since they'd arrived. Maybe it'd been that way the few times he'd dropped Scott off in the past, but he really couldn't remember it happening.

And then the barking just stopped. Suddenly. Stiles spun in a circle, as if he'd be able to see what'd caused the sudden stop in dog-to-dog conversation.

"They'll be a while," Dr Deaton told him, just sounding amused as he placed a tray holding medical-looking equipment on the side. "Isaac likes to give the dogs a helping hand."

"Okay?" Stiles said more than asked, because it wasn't like it was a bad thing that Isaac liked animals.

"Speaking of a helping hand..." He turned to face Stiles, face still annoyingly enigmatic. "Would you like me to help you?"

Okay, Stiles was totally taking back that 'not weird' judgement. He laughed briefly, nervously. "Uh, as long as it's not the ol' snip because, you know, still hoping to have my own litter of puppies some day." Deaton just kept looking at him. Okay. He did want to know how he'd been able to use magic at all in the first place. "Well, actually, I did have some questions-"

"I'm sure you do," Deaton interrupted, apparently taking that as permission, as he turned back towards the tray and started mixing a liquid with a powder.

Stiles couldn't help but watch what he was doing, notice the sudden furious concentration on Deaton's face. He also couldn't help but wonder... "Is that magic?" he asked curiously. "What you're doing now?"

"Magic comes in many forms," was the response and seriously, Stiles was becoming convinced that Deaton wasn't actually a vet, he just played at being cryptic for a living.

As Stiles watched, the solution turned an unattractive murky brown colour and Stiles couldn't really explain it but there was a sudden _shift_ in the air, a sudden sharp sweetness and the taste of metal on the roof of his mouth. All the hairs on the back of his neck rose and Stiles stumbled back, base instincts telling him to _run_ , to protect himself from this and he moved, hand accidentally striking the examination table-

_"He's going to be fine," Deaton told him and Stiles' shoulders sunk in sharp relief. "Although it'll take some time to recover. It's fortunate Derek got to him when he did."_

_Stiles couldn't help but think that if he'd moved faster, listened to Derek sooner, Scott would've needed less recovery time. "And Derek?" They weren't quite what he'd call friends, him and Derek, but he didn't actually want him to die. Hell, in the past he'd actively done what he could to keep the guy alive, so putting all that effort in would've been really annoying if he'd died now. Plus, Derek got major brownie points for saving Scott's life and putting his own at risk in the process._

_A wolfsbane-filled humidifier? That was Hitchcock levels of twisted. A guaranteed long and agonising death, slowly destroying his insides? If he'd been a werewolf, Stiles definitely would've preferred the being-chopped-in-half-with-a-nasty-ass-sword way of doing things._

_Although he'd seriously prefer neither._

_"The same," Deaton told him. "Although he'll need less recovery time, being the Alpha. And he wasn't exposed for as long."_

_Good._

_It was late, again. It always seemed to be late when he got home these days. Dad usually wasn't there but Stiles knew for a fact that, tonight, he would be. And would be for the foreseeable future._

_He sighed. It was always fun feeling like a failure as a son._

_"You're welcome to go in," Deaton said, and it was just the distraction he needed._

_Scott was out cold on the examination table, his chest slowly rising and falling. Derek was sitting on a chair but he looked surprisingly...small, tucked away, one arm crossing his body, holding on to his other - injured - arm._

_He frankly looked terrible. Pale and sweaty and pretty much what he'd looked like after he'd been shot by the wolfsbane bullet. Stiles was a little surprised at how much more it bothered him now than it had then._

_He really didn't want Derek to die._

_"Need a ride?"_

_Silent still, Derek flicked his gaze towards Scott's shallowly-breathing body._

_"Oh, I'll be coming back for him - story of my life, you know. You'd think a guy who could run so fast wouldn't need a ride everywhere." Isaac and Erica had already come and gone, instructed by Derek to stay out of view and make sure that Boyd was recovering._

_Apparently deciding to take Stiles up on his offer, Derek slowly got his feet. Stiles found it amazing that a man - werewolf - who was usually so physically capable could be reduced to this just by a plant._

_He decided not to mention that._

_Progress to the jeep was slow going, but Derek seemed determined to make the short journey under his own power - the way he had when Stiles had screeched to a halt outside the surgery, and he and Deaton had frantically carried Scott inside._

_Stiles winced as he climbed in and saw the blood from Derek's wounds soaked into the passenger seat. Yet something else he'd have to try and erase all evidence of, or lie really, really badly to his dad about._

_Neither one of them said anything, although amazingly - given the unbelievable shittiness of this day - Stiles managed to find it vaguely amusing for some reason when Derek slowly pulled his seat belt on._

_The entire drive was made in silence, both of them seemingly happy enough to just sit there and soak in their epic man pain. Stiles genuinely believed that he was starting to get how Derek felt all the damn time. When this much shitty stuff kept happening, of course you were going to be a sour-faced ass._

_Stiles pulled up outside the warehouse a little more than ten silent minutes later. The clunk of Derek's seat belt being released echoed through the jeep._

_"I'll let you know how Scott does," Stiles told him and Derek managed a single nod in response, hand reaching for the door release. "Thanks," Stiles suddenly blurted because even if Derek couldn't say it, Stiles could. "What you did for Scott. That means a lot. I know he'll appreciate it." He shrugged. "I do, too, for whatever that's worth."_

_Derek nodded again, blinking just as slowly as he was nodding. "He's pack."_

_That made it sound so simple, like saving lives was something you just did for someone who was in your pack - which was a nice sentiment, sure, but it sure as hell wasn't the only time Derek had saved someone's life. "Huh. And what about me and you? I mean, Scott's only just joined your pack and to be honest, I don't even know where I fit in right now. And we've already saved each others lives a few times already."_

_"Luck," Derek grunted, pulling the release and finally getting out of the car._

_"Good or bad?" Stiles called after him because really, these things shouldn't be left to interpretation._

_"Undecided," he said, no doubt making a point of slamming the car door right afterward so Stiles would drop it._

_It was like Derek didn't know Stiles at **all**. "You know I know about your freaky werewolf hearing, right?" Derek's head totally twitched in acknowledgement, whether he meant to or not. "You so want me in your pack," he teased. "I'm your good luck mojo."_

_Derek didn't turn around, or respond. He simply yanked open to the door to the warehouse with a great deal more energy than he'd displayed since saving Scott._

_Huffing out an amused breath, Stiles pressed his head back against the head-rest on his seat. Amazingly, his interactions with Derek had been the highlight of his day, what with another murder they'd tried and failed to stop and had to rapidly leave the scene of, Jackson being controlled by a dead person (what the hell?) and Scott's worryingly close brush with death. Actually getting the mountain ash to do what he wanted should've - and would've - been the real highlight (he'd actually done something, been useful, **useful** ) but he'd had to tear it apart moments later to save Scott's life._

_Part of him almost hadn't wanted to._

_So, something else to feel guilty about. He was building up quite the list._

"What're you-?" Stiles demanded, pushing himself away. The sweet smell was everywhere, in every pore of his skin but his mouth was bitter, so, so bitter-

_It'd been five days since he'd seen Derek. Those five days had been entirely by Stiles' choice, of course, and even before the...weirdness five days ago, they hadn't exactly been spending a lot of time together, anyway. Stiles had been actually almost enjoying his summer, hanging out with Scott, playing lacrosse with Jackson - and okay, avoiding Peter, which wasn't exactly a highlight. According to Isaac, Derek had actually been spending the time - that for once, for once, didn't have them scrambling for their lives every five minutes - 'bonding' with Boyd and Erica, trying to undo the mistakes he'd made the first time round._

_So, it wasn't like he was hanging around with Derek much at the moment, anyway._

_Stiles fiddled with his phone for the eleventh time since walking into his bedroom._

_Really, the hesitance was completely understandable. He'd defy anybody to not be completely weirded out by what'd happened, the strange and shockingly intimate way Derek had helped him. Things had been...better, after. Not by a lot - not by much at all, really - but definitely..._

_Better._

_The whole thing was just kind of humiliating. Even if Derek hadn't made a big deal about it, had simply offered to listen if Stiles wanted to (not that Stiles was about to do that, God no. Derek _listening_ )._

_Stiles had been keeping very much to himself since and, thank God, things actually seemed **calm** for once - at least on the supernatural side of things. Dad was back at work already (Stiles had had to stop himself from forcing him to stay home, to make sure he was well enough, fully rested, on top of his game before he went back to the job where he was three times more likely to be killed than your average citizen - thanks for that, Google). And Stiles himself was slowly going stir-crazy. He'd already practised lacrosse until it felt like he had sweat coming out of his **eyes** and had finished every household chore he could concieve of (the space underneath his bed had never been so free of dust-bunnies)._

_He couldn't even call Scott to do anything because he'd received a joyous text from him last night - complete with capital letters - declaring that he and Allison were back together. Stiles didn't even want to think about all the **things** they'd no doubt been doing ever since. Only a bad friend wouldn't have been glad for him, and Stiles was only occasionally a bad friend._

_He fiddled with his phone for the twelfth time._

_Screw it._

__**To: Derek**  
hey, if i scratch scott's belly, will it make his leg jerk? __

_That was good - normal for them. Not in any way needy. And it was something he genuinely wanted to know the answer to. Stiles was just thinking of starting up a game when his phone buzzed._

__**From: Derek**  
Bored again? __

_Good. Good. Of course Derek wouldn't get all weird on him - well, no weirder than he usually was. It was ridiculous, really, that he'd ever thought that Derek would stop being so...Derek._

__**To: Derek**  
how could u tell? practise done. chores done. scott and allison just had epic reunion. pls god tell me the alphas r causing trouble __

_And okay, maybe that one was a little more obvious, but at least he'd eased into it instead of leading with it straight away. Stiles knew that if Lydia ever saw it, she'd immediately translate it correctly as, "OH MY GOD I WANT COMPANY NOW NOW NOW PLEASE NEED ME!"_

_God, he was so lame._

__**From: Derek**  
Treaty's holding. __

_That didn't sound particularly inviting - not that Derek ever really did, but still. Grumbling at himself and his own stupidity, Stiles was mentally composing some kind of witty and absolutely, definitely care-free response when another message appeared._

__**From: Derek**  
Come over. Bring a DVD. Isaac wants to try out the new player. __

_Derek had finally done something about it, then. They'd slowly been making the warehouse habitable, but the cheap-ass DVD player Derek had originally bought had crapped out the other week._

_He pressed his lips together in something like relief, then grinned when he saw the next message._

__**From: Derek**  
Nothing romantic.

 **To: Derek**  
dude, i know better than that __

_He hesistated, before quickly sending something else._

__**To: Derek**  
thnx __

_Derek's reply, when it came, wasn't shocking exactly - Stiles knew it was true by now. He was still just getting used to Derek saying it so easily._

__**From: Derek**  
You don't need an excuse to come over. You're one of us, now. __

_Picking the first DVD from the shelf that wasn't a romance - he only owned a few anyway, in his small but rapidly-growing gay interest collection - Stiles grabbed his keys and jogged down the stairs._

_It took less than ten minutes to get to the warehouse and as he clunked down the metal stairs, he was surprised to see Erica and Boyd there, too._

_"Hey," he said awkwardly and a little nervously, waving the DVD case in his hand as he approached their makeshift living room. "I'm here. With a movie."_

_But Derek was just Derek, grabbing the DVD from Stiles' hand, pressing it against Boyd's chest. "You know what to do."_

_Well, that was weird. "I could've done tha-"_

_"Have a seat," Isaac offered, gesturing to the space next to him in the middle of the sofa, so Stiles shrugged and sat down. Erica was grumpily sitting on one of several kitchen chairs they'd salvaged. Derek lowered himself down to sit on Stiles' other side, Boyd was fiddling with the DVD player and this whole thing felt really, really weird._

_Stiles pointedly didn't clear his throat. "So...how're you guys?"_

_"Fine," Erica snapped, shooting Derek a glare. "It's not like we had **plans** or anything."_

_"Oh, look!" Isaac pointed out with way too much enthusiasm. "It's working." It was, though, the FBI warning appearing on the screen._

_Boyd stepped toward the sofa, and after a few moments of silent eyebrow communication between him and Derek, handed Stiles the remote before taking the chair next to Erica._

_"Umm, thanks," Stiles said, still feeling distinctly awkward. He shouldn't have been. They'd all fought together in one way or another - but he still didn't really know Erica or Boyd as well as he knew Derek. Isaac he knew a little better._

_Who knew? Maybe this would remedy that situation._

_Slowly letting his body relax, Stiles leant back into the sofa and smiled when his question about watching the trailers was met with a universal no._

_Derek didn't say anything. Derek probably never would. But having someone he trusted who simply knew and was willing to sit next to him in comfortable silence..._

_It made is a little easier to breathe. Like he had a little more air left._

"-helping you," Deaton said, like he wasn't completely fucking insane. "It's what you asked for."

"No," Stiles pitched his body towards the door. "No, it's really not-"

_Stiles groaned audibly as he heaved his exhausted body up the stairs. Jackson may have 'worked out his issues' (Lydia's term) but despite everything they'd been through, he wasn't holding his punches on the lacrosse field._

_At least that was figurative punches, for once, not real ones. Because Jackson was kicking his ass all over the field but he was somehow doing it **fairly** and in a way that Stiles kind of suspected was meant to help. Ever since the game where he'd finally scored (he wasn't thinking about what happened after, he wasn't, he wasn't) and realised he actually had some skill when given a chance and a dose of confidence, Stiles had been hell-bent on making first line permanently. Maybe even Captain, one day (Dad would be so proud, might even start smiling at him again). It was kind of a ridiculous dream, he knew that, what with werewolves on the team, but Scott had a long way to go academically before he was allowed back. And Isaac had been trying not to draw attention to himself lately, downplaying his now-obvious skills. As it turned out, Stiles actually knew a werewolf who had a **brain**._

_Of course, someone could have all the inate talent in the world and it still wouldn't make up for lack of experience._

_Stiles considered his streak that night pure luck - or maybe more a culmination of events. Coach had immediately thrust him into first line, especially with the spaces opened up by Scott's absence on the team and all the other players who'd been 'injured' by Isaac (as with everything else in this town, Jackson's apparent death had been brushed over the moment he'd turned up to kick ass on the lacrosse field). Stiles didn't feel like he'd been quite that good since but slowly, and surely, he was getting better._

_He was also getting bruised. A lot._

_He was sweaty and gross and couldn't wait to get in the shower - so of course, when he walked into his room, Derek was there._

_Perfect._

_This was actually only the second time it'd ever happened - for all his lurking abilities, he didn't usually use them in Stiles' room - but Stiles was so tired and sore he couldn't even produce any aspect of surprise right now. "I'm guessing you want something," he sighed, dropping his bag on the floor. At least Dad was at work. "Go ahead and tell me, but be aware you're getting a free show if you just stand there." Stiles was so tired he didn't even care that he was about to take his shirt off in front of someone who looked the way Derek did._

_"I need you to research something," Derek said easily, like it was something Stiles did for him all the time. They'd worked together in the past and saved each other's lives a bunch of times, even teased each other, but it was usually a 'forced into circumstances' arrangement. Stiles still didn't want him to die or anything, but Derek didn't often search him out specifically and he was exhausted, frankly._

_"Such as?" Stiles asked, opening a drawer and searching through the contents. Ultimately grabbing a shirt at random, he placed it on top of the chest of drawers and then reached down - wincing a little - to tug off his uniform top, letting it fall to the floor. Picking up the t-shirt, Stiles lifted his arms -_

_\- and then felt a hand wrap around his upper arm like a vise. "Hey, hey!" he exclaimed as Derek just kept hanging on like a crazy person, swinging Stiles around like it was nothing, the fingers of his other hand pressing wherever there was a bruise. "No! No bad touch!"_

_He was only free, of course, when Derek decided to let him go - and Stiles immediately poked him in the chest with his free hand because that shit wasn't on. "Paws off, buddy."_

_"You're covered in them," he said, indicating the bruising._

_"Imagine that," Stiles said rhetorically, tugging his shirt on angrily. "Someone who doesn't heal instantly. Lucky Stiles, huh? What do you care, anyway?"_

_Derek shrugged. "Can't research if you're dead."_

_Stiles rolled his eyes. "I'm touched, truly. And anyway," he folded his arms across his chest, trying not to wince as the movement pulled at something. "I thought you had Crazy Uncle Peter's 'help'. And resources." It wasn't all good news in the world of werewolves, lately. Gerard was gone, the Argents were leaving them alone and Erica and Boyd had apparently made their escape - but Peter was still around. That was just a bad situation whichever way you looked at it and Stiles honestly couldn't see how Derek didn't know that._

_"I trust Peter about as far as I can throw your jeep."_

_Oh. But - hey! "There will no throwing of my jeep, thank you very much, of you'll get your ass kicked. Mine may get kicked way more in return, but you can be damn sure I'll try. I might even manage to break a nail."_

_Now it was Derek's turn to roll his eyes as he pulled a folded-up piece of paper out of his jacket pocket, opening it up and handing it to Stiles. There was a diagram drawn on the paper. It had more straight edges, but wasn't entirely dissimilar from the tattoo on Derek's back._

_"I think trouble's coming," he said bluntly, a phrase that was just thrilling to hear. "They've been laying low - observing, I think. And I know one...interpretation of this symbol. I want to know if there are more."_

_Stiles sighed. Great. Trouble. Things had been relatively calm in the few weeks since Gerard had vanished and...everything else had happened. He'd been concentrating more on school, lacrosse and trying not to notice how much happier Lydia and Jackson were, this time. Normal **human** problems._

_"Fine." Sliding into his computer chair, Stiles opened up his laptop and pressed the power button._

_"You'll do it."_

_Confused, Stiles swivelled in his chair to face Derek. "Do what?"_

_This being Derek, he wasn't about to get a straight answer - even if the answer was downright obvious. "You want something that desperately," Derek simply told him, "and you'll do it."_

He burst out the door that led out of the room and Scott was there Scott was there Scott was there and Stiles let himself fall fall fall, into blissful darkness.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enormous thanks to rhiannonhero for fixing this part :) :) Feedback would be wonderful :) 
> 
> Okay, just to keep you guys informed, I have to go back to work tomorrow. UGH, REAL LIFE, WHY? Anyway, fic production will likely slow down at some point, so you might not get parts as often. We'll see how it goes and I'll still work on it as much as I can.

Consciousness rushed in and out for a while, his existence consisting only of the sounds he could hear and the feeling of being _warm_.

"Careful. _Isaac_ , be careful..."

"I'm not the one who has a history of dropping bodies, remember?"

"...yeah, okay."

*

"Derek's going to kill him for this."

"Stiles? Why?"

"Not Stiles - Deaton."

"Okay, that makes a lot more sense. Why kill him, though? I mean Deaton apologised and everything, so..."

"...you really haven't been paying attention lately, have you?"

"Oh. _Oh_. Is this about _them_ again?"

*

"What're you doing?"

"Telling Derek."

*

When Stiles finally woke up - finally woke up properly - he blinked his eyes open to discover he was laying in his own bed, in his own room, in his own house, facing away from the door. It was dark outside.

And then he remembered what'd happened at the vet clinic.

Dude, Deaton was a _psychopath_! He was worse than Peter! What gave him the right to go forcefully bringing back people's memories, when said people were actually really confused about the whole thing and absolutely had not given permission for that kind of...magic - magic? - to take place on his brain. His brain. His _brain_. The very core of his being, the substance of who Stiles _was_. Sure, that substance was a little jumbled right now and remembering everything he'd forgotten would no doubt be incredibly useful - hello there, understatement - but. But.

Stiles wasn't ready. If it were down to him, right now he'd only remember the stuff that hopefully didn't come saddled with all the baggage it seemed Previous Stiles was now carting around. He did want to know about magic. He did want to know about werewolves. He did want to know what the hell was going on with Derek. But the more time passed, the more he remembered, the more it was becoming obvious that there _were_ no memories that were simply just exciting or interesting or fascinating. Each memory wasn't a separate entity that he could just analyse and move on from. They were all connected by the story of his life, linked by the way everything had changed and developed over the past 18 months. Stiles couldn't just pick out the cool stuff to remember - even if that were possible - because it was always tinged with horror, regret, guilt and a stifling sense of helplessness.

Basically, most of the memories that were coming back sucked, and he didn't _want_ to remember.

It was also becoming just as obvious that he couldn't avoid it, though. He'd tried focusing only on Derek and life had kicked him in the ass with new crappy memories anyway. Whatever Deaton had done at the clinic had hit Stiles with an actual trifecta of memories, this time. At least, he thought it was three. They'd all been so close together they'd kind of blended into each other, making them even harder to figure out than usual. Not to mention they'd been much more intense - maybe as a result of not coming back 'naturally'?

What he _was_ able to put together specifically, was that there'd been some...event...with Derek, that'd somehow been connected to Dad getting hurt? Something that Stiles had found profoundly embarrassing and humiliating - and really, like his situation wasn't bad enough? He had to worry that, at any moment, he could remember what that was?

It was an incredibly weird and equally incredibly disturbing situation to be afraid of your own memories, the very things that made you who you were.

He definitely needed to think about this more; what Deaton had actually done to him and what it meant. It didn't feel _right_ , what he'd done to Stiles. He also needed to pick apart and study the memories closer, understand them further. Sighing, shifting in bed, Stiles only realised there was a piece of paper resting next to his pillow when he heard it crinkling. Quickly grabbing it, he sat up and squinted in the moonlight at the words that covered the paper, written in Scott's familiar messy scrawl.

_Your going to be okay. Deaton says sorry and thought you wanted him to do it. I had to go home call if you need anything._

_p.s. Calling Derek was Isaac's idea. I AM INNOCENT!!!!_

Freezing momentarily, Stiles then sat up further and angled his body in the other direction and-

Yup. Derek was sleeping in his computer chair.

Stiles didn't even know how that was possible - he could sleep just about anywhere, and even he'd never managed to fall asleep in that chair - but there Derek was, arms folded across his chest, tucked in on himself, head bowed with his eyes shut.

It also had to be really uncomfortable.

It absolutely shouldn't have been for a guy who was a werewolf - an Alpha, no less - but it really was kind of adorable. Derek was being _adorable_ , and-

_Derek wasn't being adorable. He **wasn't**. There was no part of Derek Hale that was in any way tinged with adorableness. Or cuteness. Or puppy-like-ness - despite the obvious dog connection._

_Derek was annoying. And stubborn. And annoying. And an idiot. And deadly. And painfully, obviously, out of his depth._

_But as Stiles watched Scott brush Derek off for what had to be, like, the seventeenth time, Derek's face twisted into this...expression. Derek didn't really do expressions that weren't glaring, glowering and other variations of 'grrr, I'm angry and growly and have a tragic history and feel my paaaaaain'. But the expression Derek was wearing now - the same expression he'd worn the previous sixteen times - was almost ridiculously child-like. Like Derek was trying so hard and he didn't understand why it wasn't working and it just **wasn't fair**._

_Honestly, Stiles thought Derek was perfectly entitled to feel this way about life in general. His life was pretty much a big shit-fest - much the way Stiles' had been for a while now - and Stiles couldn't really blame the guy if he did just sit around feeling sorry for himself._

_So, Stiles finally took pity on him after attempt seventeen. The guy was persistent; Stiles would give him that much._

_"You're going about this all wrong," Stiles announced, dropping down to sit on the dusty wooden box next to Derek, the space Scott had just vacated. They really needed to get some kind of furniture in here. Stiles was not a fan of tetanus. "You're being too nice." Honestly, he **sucked** at being nice. Like, it was even worse than Stiles had anticipated - and he'd known, going into this, that it was going to be bad._

_Derek's jaw clenched. "You. **Told** me. To be **nice**." Yeah, he kind of had. The problem was, Derek was going about it the way a regular person would. Derek was not in any way regular and his sudden apparent personality change was not doing him any favours._

_"Okay there, Mr Enunciation," Stiles moved to pat him on the shoulder; quickly thought better of it. "It's nice that you're being nice. You're just being too nice. It's not really your thing, you know?"_

_" **What** is not my **thing**?"_

_Still with the enunciation, then. "Well, you've never really done nice, you know? Or at least not since we've known you. Not that you haven't done nice things," he added, because that was totally true, "you know, saving our lives and stuff. Definitely good, nice things," he nodded. "But not so much with the speaking. Which, hey - tragic past, I get it. But you're being too nice now and, frankly, I think it's creeping him out."_

_Derek cricked his neck._

_Stiles babbled on because he was pretty sure that was all the response he was going to get. "Nice is probably the wrong choice of words. That was probably my fault. You don't have to be all, 'Hey, Scott! Great day we're having, huh? What've you been up to lately - please tell me in detail and in triplicate'." It wasn't actually word-for-word the kind of thing Derek had been saying, but it was close. "Just be honest."_

_"I'm always honest," Derek insisted._

_Maybe that was true? Actually, it felt more like bullshit. And hey, at least Derek was speaking again. "Be honest in a...less intimidating way?"_

_Derek grunted._

_"Look," Stiles sighed, "I've been doing what I can, trying to convince him to give you a chance. But the bulk of the work has to come from you - it's your pack he'll be joining. It has to come from **you**. Just tell him the truth - your pack only has two members, your crazy uncle keeps trying to seduce you to the dark side," and seduce Stiles, but that didn't need mentioning right now, Stiles could totally handle Peter, "and if the Alphas attack, you're toast! Simple."_

_That little 'pep talk' had done the joyous job of reminding him why they were even trying to do this in the first place. Scott had been side-eyeing him for weeks now for spending so much time in Derek's company. It wasn't like Stiles even wanted to hang around with Derek, but he'd already decided he couldn't sit on his ass and do nothing while the Alpha Pack were waiting in the wings. God knew Scott wasn't about to do it with all his "You're not my Alpha," feelings and his sudden Scott-and-Isaac-Special-Private-Time that Stiles was in no way jealous of._

_But Scott. Scott was important. Derek had always wanted them to work together - be **pack** \- since the start. Whether to team up against the Alpha to avenge his sister, or team up together to stop the kanima, or just so he wouldn't be so **alone**._

_Not that Derek would actually say that._

_It was obvious - to Stiles at least - that if Derek could convince Scott to finally, actually join his pack, that it'd give Derek a huge boost of confidence that he desperately needed. The pack would be stronger in general - and as the pack really only consisted of Derek and Isaac at the moment, they needed that strength badly. Derek would become stronger as a leader and honestly, with Scott on-board they might be able to convince Jackson to step up to the plate, too. Scott and Jackson weren't close by any stretch of the imagination, but Scott had been just about the only one who had always, always advocated for doing everything they could to keep Jackson alive - even when he was a mindless killing machine._

_Something that Jackson was well aware of, thanks to Stiles 'happening' to mention it to him during a particularly gruelling practise session._

_So Stiles had gone to Derek, told him to try and convince Scott to sign up again. Experiment with some of those social skills that were still so glaringly absent. They went through the routine - Derek snarled at Stiles to stay out of his business, Stiles yelled that the only reason he was mixed up in Derek's business at all was that Derek kept **asking him for help** , then there was a day of mutual silence and Derek ending up doing what Stiles had suggested all along._

_And now here they were. Trying to figure out how to make Derek socially acceptable without creeping Scott the hell out._

_Derek brought his hands up to his face. "Right," he said. "Simple. I don't know why I listen to you."_

_That made two of them._

And then there were the memories like that one. Those memories made everything even more confusing, because they were still usually tinged with desperation - or at least the memory of it - but the actual content was...not bad. Which, because this was the way Stiles rolled, only made him curious and this constant swinging between not wanting to know and actually wanting to know was really, really annoying, ugh!

Fortunately, Stiles then noticed movement, which was at least a distraction.

Not so fortunately, he noticed movement because Dad had just stepped into his open doorway.

Where he could see Derek. In Stiles' bedroom.

Dad's suddenly and decidedly silent appearance had at least been really, really cool, so Stiles totally decided to focus on that. "Wow, I didn't even hear you."

"Sheriff," Dad remarked, like that explained everything, like sheriff's got sent on How-To-Be-A-Silent-Badass-Ninja training courses.

Maybe they did.

Maybe it was the same place werewolves got sent on How-To-Be-A-Silent-Creeper courses.

They both looked at Derek, who hadn't moved an inch.

"Heavy sleeper?" Stiles shrugged, and then paused as he realised what that sounded like. "And that's totally a guess because that's not something I have _any_ practical knowledge of."

Dad rolled his eyes. Derek finally started waking up, lifting his head, blinking slowly.

Dad stepped into the room. "Stiles, can I ask you a question?"

This was going nowhere good. "...no?"

Unsurprisingly, Dad didn't listen. "This is your bedroom, correct?"

He sighed. "Yes."

"And isn't your bedroom...upstairs?"

He sighed again. " _Yes._ "

"You had one rule, Stiles," Dad pointed out, " _one_."

It wasn't like they'd even been doing anything. "It's not like-"

Derek finally, finally said something. "It's not his fault," he explained, causing the computer chair to squeak on its wheels as he got to his feet. "He wasn't feeling well at the vet clinic. Scott brought him home but his mother needed him. He thought Stiles shouldn't be left on his own, so he called me." There were some lies tied up in that, but Stiles figured it was mostly kind of the truth. "Stiles...wasn't aware that I was here." That was definitely true, at least.

Dad took a step in Derek's direction. "If my son isn't feeling well after a sustaining a _head injury_ you let _me_ know, you understand?" He paused. "And probably a hospital."

"I'm fine, dad, really," Stiles insisted, throwing back the covers and twisting his body around to sit on the edge of the bed. He actually did feel fine at the moment; whatever Deaton had done to him had clearly worn off - and not a moment too soon.

He still didn't really know how he felt about the fact that his mind had essentially been...invaded...without his permission.

Pissed, though. Pissed was definitely there.

Satisfied, Dad turned away and started heading out of the room. Stiles thought that might actually be it, but - no. Of course not.

"Derek," Dad called, as he walked out. "With me."

Stiles and Derek stared at each other.

"I'm _really_ sorry," Stiles breathed.

Lips quirking into a smile, Derek just turned and left the room.

Stiles went into panic stations, scrambling off the bed. _Red Alert! Red Alert!_ Someone had taken his sneakers off - thank you, Scott or Isaac - but he was still fully dressed - _thank you_ , Scott or Isaac - and he flew out of his bedroom, stumbling down the stairs.

He found Dad and Derek in the living room, where they both had their phones out and were...were...

_Exchanging phone numbers._

"I have contact numbers for most of Stiles' friends," Dad was saying, before adding a deliberate, "or at least their parents." Folding his arms across his chest, Stiles glared at the back of Dad's head. "But as you are, apparently, one of Stiles' friends, we should know how to contact each other. For situations like today."

"Good idea," Derek said calmly, and this whole faux-pleasant conversation thing was creeping Stiles the hell out.

When they finished, they both pocketed their phones and then Dad was gesturing towards the sofa. "Have a seat, Derek. Are you staying for dinner?"

Okay, now Dad was doing this deliberately just to mess with him. _Clearly._

Derek looked at Stiles.

Stiles shrugged.

Derek shrugged. "Sure."

"Stiles?" Dad asked politely. "You still feeling okay?"

"Uh." This was a trap, surely. "Yes?"

"Good." Dad's expression darkened. "You're making dinner."

Yep. He was right.

And that was how he ended up sitting around the counter in the kitchen, eating pasta with Dad and Derek. There was conversation but nothing particularly personal or enlightening - just what each of them had done during the day. Well, he said each of them when he really meant just himself and Dad. Derek may have seemingly opened up more with Stiles, but not around others. Of course, Stiles couldn't be truly honest about his day, either - not with trying to hunt down information about Derek, and then discovering he'd performed magic, and then having missing memories forced back into his brain via different magic.

Honestly, lying all the time was completely understandable.

Mostly they just let Dad ramble on about work and some idiot administrator who had it in for him and every now and then Stiles would glance over at Derek. One time Derek caught him and Stiles rolled his eyes as if to say, _Parents._ And then Derek raised his eyebrows as if to say, _You're lucky._ And then Stiles nodded back as if to say, _I know_ , and then they just kind of looked at each other until Dad pointedly cleared his throat.

Stiles found his empty dish fascinating after that.

It'd turned out to be a surprisingly pleasant evening, despite the way the day had gone previously. Was this what life was like before? Moments of thorough, nearly unbearable intensity followed by moments that were actually pretty enjoyable? There couldn't have been many of these enjoyable moments, surely, not with the threat of death always hanging over their heads. But there had been some, definitely been some, like the memory he'd had earlier. Derek had been an idiot and Stiles had still had that underlying constant taste of fear in his mouth, but he couldn't deny that it'd been _fun_.

He wondered how he'd adjusted to that, the occasional sudden shift from OMGTERROR to _hey, this is pretty fun_ because even now he was finding the disconnect pretty strange. No wonder he'd been see-sawing all over the place when it came to wanting/not wanting to remember everything.

Eventually, Dad parked himself on the sofa with the remote, leaving them to deal with the dishes. Derek actually seemed to know what a dishwasher was used for, and after the two of them had loaded it up Stiles escorted him to the porch, pointedly closing the door behind them.

"Thanks for that," he said immediately, folding his arms across his chest. "I know it was probably...awkward, but-"

"I wouldn't have stayed if I didn't want to," Derek interrupted, facing him, looking stupidly good in the ugly yellow glow of the porch light. "Your pasta's pretty good."

Stiles pursed his lips together for a moment. "Not just staying for dinner. But staying...before. That was..." Not adorable. Definitely not adorable. "Thoughtful."

Derek glanced down and away, actually shifting on the spot. That _absolutely_ wasn't adorable, either. "I should go." He didn't leave immediately, though, instead looking back at Stiles and announcing, "I dealt with Deaton. What he did was..."

"Potentially kind of useful?" Stiles felt the need to point out, and he wasn't even sure why until he recognised the concern Derek was trying to mask and realised that he didn't want Derek to have to do that - even though Stiles was the one who'd actually had his mind whammied. "It, um. Could've been a good thing."

"It could've been useful," Derek agreed, watching him carefully. "With full and frank permission."

Derek moved to leave and when the instinct came, Stiles just went with it, unfolding his arms to grab Derek's wrist. Immediately turning back around, Derek stared down at their hands.

"What were we? Or...you and him?" Stiles asked, while he was still feeling brave enough. "Before?"

Slowly sliding his gaze all the way along Stiles' arm, up over his shoulder, on to his face, Derek's gaze settled deliberately on Stiles' mouth.

And Stiles knew then, without a doubt (but hadn't he known already? Hadn't he secretly known all along?). Isaac was right. Erica was right. Whether anything had actually happened or not, the feelings were there on both sides, and they were real.

Only that'd been between Derek and Previous Stiles. Not _him_.

"A work in progress," were all the words that Derek produced, the sound of them making Stiles open his hand instinctively and then Derek was leaving, turning, and walking away.

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to the wonderful rhiannonhero :) Feedback would be wonderful :) 
> 
> BLEH, work. BLEH, real life. BLEH, not well :P Short version: I'm having to listen to my body and not force myself to _writewritewriteveryspareminuteomg_. But I am cracking away at this when I'm able!

Stiles woke with a start the next morning. He'd spent most of the previous evening trying to analyse Derek's parting comment - the meaning seemed pretty obvious, 'seemed' being the keyword there - and he didn't know how the hell it'd worked but somehow, while he'd been sleeping, his brain had gone somewhere else entirely. It'd managed to make a lot more sense out of the three different memories he'd had at the clinic and while there'd been a lot of information there, there was one piece that was way more important than anything else.

Sliding into the kitchen on bare feet, still in his pajamas, Stiles panted for breath as Dad stared at him with his mouth open half-way to taking a bite out of his whole wheat toast.

His mouth never made it to the toast.

"Stiles?"

Stiles thought of everything Dad had done for him; how hard Dad had always _tried_. And in returned, he'd... "Did I get you fired?"

Making a face, Dad sighed, letting his slice of toast fall onto his plate. "You remembered."

Shit, that meant it was _true_. "Not...specifically." Stiles didn't know the details at all, only what that first memory had implied about Dad being home for 'the foreseeable future' and it somehow being Stiles' fault. "But I knew something had..." No, something hadn't just 'happened'. He'd been responsible for it. "I knew I'd done something. To hurt you."

Carefully placing his plate on the counter, Dad hesitated. "This is something else we don't talk about it," he admitted, bracing his palms against the edge of the counter, lowering his head. "Not for lack of trying."

This wasn't going to be good, was it? But this was Dad. Stiles couldn't hide from it. "What do you mean?"

Bringing his right hand up, Dad quickly swiped it across the side of his neck - a nervous habit that Stiles hadn't seen for a while. "The lying. It's like I can't talk to you," Dad finally blurted. "Or really, him. Damn, this is a weird conversation." He shook his head. Stiles totally sympathised. "Honestly, Stiles, these few little chats we've had since your accident have been the most that we've talked - really talked - to each other in months." He was right. It wasn't good. "When you came out I figured...well, that's the big secret. That's what he's been hiding, why he's been acting out. But the lies and the avoidance kept coming." Shit, Dad looked so, so disappointed. "And part of me?" Dad asked rhetorically, not meeting Stiles' gaze in a way that Stiles suspected was definitely deliberate. "Almost wishes that things could stay the way they are now. What kind of father does that, huh?" He smiled bitterly. "Actually wants their son to remain an amnesiac, because at least that way his son still _talks_ to him."

Stiles couldn't be blamed for the tears stinging his eyes. He couldn't. What had he done to his dad? What had he done to his relationship with him? "Dad..."

Dad's voice was rough with emotion. "Every time I try to have a real conversation, bring up a serious concern, you...he...shuts me down."

And it was this, this moment right here that finally - finally, finally - made Stiles grow up. He wasn't 16 anymore, he was 18. A man in the eyes of the law. He'd quite clearly had some extraordinarily bad shit to deal with, but he couldn't run from it, couldn't hide. He had to get the fuck over himself and his doubts and just deal with it. People had _died_. Dad didn't know who he was anymore.

This wasn't just about him. He'd - somehow - with the rest of the pack, taken this responsibility on. To do the right thing, to protect others from harm. But in doing so he'd hurt his dad, fractured their relationship and Dad didn't even know _why_.

"He probably can't stand the fact that he's lying to you all the time," Stiles found himself saying, because it was right, because even if Previous Stiles had never recognised it, this Stiles now had been made blatantly aware that he couldn't do it without Dad. Couldn't do it in secret. Couldn't hurt him anymore. "Probably doesn't want to have to lie even more." Stiles had never seen Dad look so openly _hopeful_ about anything before, and Stiles wished the other him had done this a long, long time ago.

"Lie about what?"

Stiles bit his bottom lip. Nodded with determination. "Call work," he said. "Tell them I've had a set-back. You're coming with me to meet the others."

*

The phone call with Derek had not gone well. At first.

It could've easily been awkward at first given what'd happened on the porch last night, but Stiles didn't give it a chance, immediately talking over any introduction and telling Derek exactly what he'd wanted to do.

Derek hadn't been pleased.

To his credit, it wasn't just rampant paranoia about too many people knowing already, he voiced legitimate concerns about how this wasn't just Derek's secret, it affected everyone in the pack. Plus, Stiles' dad was in a position of authority in the community, which might make it difficult for him to turn a blind eye to some of their less-legal but necessary activities, put him in an awkward position - something they didn't have to worry about too much with Scott's mom.

Wait.

Wait.

_What_?

"Scott's _mom_ knows?" Unbelievable! All the werewolf stuff they'd discussed, and Scott had never one decided to mention it? He was gonna kill him!

"I...assumed he'd told you."

"Believe me, he hasn't said a word." Determination settled low in his gut. If Scott's mom knew, he absolutely had the right to tell his dad. "We're doing this, Derek," Stiles told him, aware that he was telling the _Alpha_ what to do, but that seemed to be how their relationship rolled, anyway. "Trust me, he'll be an ally. We'll be there in an hour."

Dad was hovering at the bottom of the stairs when Stiles emerged from his bedroom. He still didn't know what was going on, but knew Stiles had been arranging something.

"So!" Stiles said with fake-enthusiasm, making his way down the stairs. "Finish breakfast before we go?" He paused as he got to the bottom, considering something. "Also, don't bring your gun."

"That's really not reassurring," Dad said, shaking his head with a sigh.

Stiles just slapped him on the shoulder, feeling better than he had in days. "I'll make you some fresh toast."

*

Dad's mouth settled into a grim line as they drove into the warehouse district, obviously displeased at the area Stiles had been hanging out in. The irony was, of course, that Stiles couldn't even remember the specific warehouse that he had been hanging out in and had had to call Derek again for the address. When they pulled up outside, at least it looked familiar.

"A warehouse, Stiles?" Dad asked, slipping his seatbelt off. "Really?"

"Wasn't my choice," he said honestly, stepping out of the jeep and closing the door. They'd brought his car, under the theory that bringing Dad's cruiser would just draw unwarranted attention. Dad had finally actually letting him drive - under careful supervision. Stiles suspected promising to tell the truth had a lot to do with it.

"This definitely the right place?" Dad came to stop next to him. His question was answered for him when the metal door swung open to reveal Isaac standing on the other side.

"Hi," he said cautiously, clearly nervous.

Dad grunted suspiciously. "Isaac."

"Sheriff. You..." he gestured behind him. "Want to come in? We got snacks and everything."

"I really don't know," Dad said honestly, glancing over at Stiles. Stiles genuinely understood that feeling - had been wrestling with it for days, now - but nodded encouragingly at his dad. Eventually taking the advice, Dad started walking towards the door.

Isaac led them through several run-down, un-used offices, and then they emerged onto a set of familiar metal stairs. Pausing at the top, Stiles took in the sight below. The huge expanse of space, the train carriage, the seating area. Even the fridge quietly humming in the corner.

It wasn't in any way pretty, or nice to look at. But he felt _safe_.

He couldn't help but notice the people staring up at them, either. The rest of the pack - even Scott's mom, which as much as he was annoyed at Scott about would...probably be useful, yeah.

Dad just seemed confused as all hell, but slowly the three of them made their way down the stairs. When the finally reached the bottom - and with everyone staring at them the entire way down, it was a strange-ass journey - Dad immediately gravitated towards Scott's mom.

"Melissa," he nodded, staring at the group. "You know what's going on here?"

"I do," she agreed quickly, if nervously herself. "I can't stay for long - work," she added. "But when Scott told me what was going on, I thought my being here might...help." She shook her head. "I know I would've appreciated the hell out of it."

"Help with what?" Dad asked, finally having enough. "Seriously," he addressed all of them, "can someone tell me what the hell is going on? Explain exactly what my son's mixed up in?"

They all looked at Stiles, and well...he guessed that was fair. Technically, he had been the one to insist on telling his dad. Okay. Okay. "Well, I suppose the first thing I should say is that I'm still figuring out a lot of this myself, so I might get something wrong. Sorry," he shrugged. "But the most important thing is that that none of them are ever going to hurt you, okay?"

Yeah, Dad did not look in the _least_ bit reassurred. "Why would I even think they were going to hurt me?" He started eyeing the group suspiciously, as if checking for weapons.

Stiles met Derek's gaze. Derek gave him a subtle nod of encouragement.

Okay. "They're werewolves," he blurted out and at seeing Dad's wide-eyed shock, just kept talking. "Not all of them but most of them and - um. Not me. I'm not one. And, um, at first we kind of had to work together to save ourselves but now we're...kind of a pack? No," he said suddenly, certain. "We are a pack. Even if I can't remember much about it right now. And I'd really like to re-emphasise the part about them not hurting you. Or me. Or anyone who's not evil."

Man, he'd technically only know that secret for a few days, but it felt so good to get it off his chest already.

Even if Dad was looking at him like he was a crazy person. "I...what... _werewolves_ , Stiles, seriously? That's what you're expecting me to believe? This is some kind of practical joke, right?" He glanced around the warehouse with a demented half-smile on his face, as if waiting for the cameras to appear.

"No, John," Mrs McCall replied, so seriously that Dad's face fell as he faced her. "It's really not."

Stiles couldn't really blame him for thinking that, though. "Scott?" he asked, because Derek would've been more impressive but Scott was way less intimidating. Not to mention Stiles' best friend, for years, so hopefully Dad wouldn't immediately try to kill him or anything.

There was a reason he'd told Dad not to bring his gun.

Scott looked over at his mom. She smiled and nodded. He nodded back before taking a step forward. And then his face began to...change.

It was Dad's first time seeing it happen ever, but it was ironically Stiles' first time at seeing Scott change into the wolf. The features on his face changed slowly, transitioning into something else. A thicker forehead. Longer teeth. More hair. And unlike Derek's, Scott's eyes were a vibrant yellowy-gold colour. Claws grew out of his fingers, too, which Stiles hadn't noticed Derek doing that night in his car.

Dude. His best friend was a _werewolf_.

Scott did nothing else. Didn't step any closer, didn't make any movement that could've been interpreted as threatening.

Dad stumbled back in surprise anyway, hand instinctively reaching for the weapon that wasn't there. "Jesus, holy mother of-"

"John," Mrs McCall said, taking his arm. "Come and sit down." He let himself be led away, but he kept turning his body back, still staring at Scott every chance he got.

Stiles and Scott shared an awkward look - somehow that still worked even with the wolf-face on. Stiles couldn't stop himself. "Nice forehead, dude."

Scott rolled his eyes - which was just weird with the wolf-face on.

"You're showing me everything later," Stiles encouraged, slapping Scott on the arm before jogging over to where Mrs McCall was sitting next to Dad. The two of them were talking in hushed whispers which was kind of pointless, but then Dad didn't know about werewolf hearing. He waited until they finally stopped talking, giving them a modicum of privacy and was about to open his mouth to say...something. Something probably stupid.

Fortunately Dad turned to him instead, face intent. "Show me everything."

So they did - and they were showing Stiles as well, really. That had been the original plan for the day, after all. The two of them sat on the sofa, Mrs McCall right next to them, as the rest of the pack showed them everything. They showed him and Dad what each of them looked like as a werewolf (Stiles quietly thought that Jackson was the one who looked least like himself and Isaac was the one who looked the most badass). They gave impressive demonstrations of their strength and speed. They proved how their hearing worked by having Boyd climb to the top of the stairs, turn away, and had him repeat whatever whispered phrases Dad could think up.

Most of them were along the lines of, "Am I having a stroke?"

Stiles just sat there the whole time, enraptured, his mind trying to deal with the unbelievable awesomeness of what he was seeing and experiencing. This part of knowing about werewolves was indeed very, very cool.

Derek offered to personally show them how the healing process worked, but Dad thankfully - and quickly - put a stop to that. "Let's say I'm convinced," he said eventually, but then paused, resting his head in both hands. "About _werewolves_." Suddenly sitting up straight, dropping his hands, he looked Derek straight in the eye. "You're the one in charge." It wasn't a surprise that Dad had figured this out, despite none of them saying anything about it. "The...head werewolf, or whatever the term is."

"Alpha," Derek corrected. "And yes."

Dad nodded at him, eyes narrowing. "Then you and I need to have a talk."

*

Stiles paced back and forth for the twenty-eighth time. Twenty-ninth. He clasped his hands together nervously. Thirtieth. He glanced over to the other side of the warehouse, where Dad and Derek were now sitting on the sofa alone. Talking. Thirty-first.

"You know," Jackson drawled from a few feet away, "I could just tell you what they're saying."

Stiles stumbled around to face him. "Derek gave you all an instruction not to eavesdrop. I heard him."

Jackson just made a face as if to say _You think I listen to instructions_? but then Lydia was there, tapping a hand against his chest in rebuke. "Don't pretend like you don't follow Derek's orders - that you even like following them, most of the time. Anyway," she said smartly, "if you're going to tell anyone what they're saying, it's me."

"His endless pacing is driving me crazy," Jackson muttered.

"Give him a break," Erica said, honestly surprisingly Stiles. "This is a big deal. And everyone knows you and Stiles are actually friends now, so you might as well stop pretending you're not."

Stiles and Jackson stared at each other in mutual horror. Stiles might've known it was true - had had a few memories that implied they pretty much got along, Jackson's infrequent attempts at friendship throughout the week (usually consisting of a slap on the arm) - but it still took some getting used to. He still had way too many pre-amnesia-blackout memories of Jackson being a complete jerkwad.

"Just don't ask me for dating advice," Stiles spat out.

Jackson lifted his eyebrows "Like I would _ever_ need it."

The distraction had worked for a while, but...Scott! He could totally focus on Scott and spun around to face him, where he and Allison had their arms around each other. They were all kind of clustered together, waiting for the sheriff-alpha pow-wow to finish. "I can't believe you never told me your mom knew, dude." Mrs McCall had had to leave a few minutes ago, but Stiles had seriously appreciated her attempts to help his Dad process and not freak completely the hell out. Maybe he should buy her flowers or something.

"Honestly, I thought I'd told you," he said, then started looking thoughtful. "Seriously, it's really confusing trying to remember what you do and don't know already."

That was just perfect. "Oh, it's confusing for _you_?"

Allison said or did something then because suddenly Scott was turning to meet her gaze. She looked at him significantly, eyes widening, and then Scott's own eyes widened and he immediately looked back at Stiles. "But I'm not making this about me!" he announced loudly. "This is not about me. This is about my friend, who's going through a difficult time." He nodded firmly before checking with Allison again. When she smiled encouragingly, he started looking all proud of himself and shit.

Clearly, Allison had begun indoctrinating Scott into the world of thinking things through, of seeing the bigger picture.

Stiles approved of Allison. Allison could stay.

But now _that_ distraction was over with and there Dad still was, grilling Derek with all kinds of questions, getting answers and...well...was there any reason Stiles couldn't be doing the same thing? He'd already asked them tons of questions at school, but there were areas that he'd been deliberately avoiding.

Not anymore. That was the whole point of this, right? Being an adult. Telling Dad. Finding out the whole truth, no matter how unpleasant it might be for him personally. Just like Scott, he had to see the bigger picture.

"So," he said, facing the rest of the group, "who'd like to answer some more questions for me?"

*

"Let me get this straight," Stiles said. "Jackson was killing people - which we're all agreed was totally not his fault," he glanced over at Jackson to make that point abundantly clear. No wonder it'd been such a touchy subject. "So we kidnapped him, I stole a prisoner transport truck and we basically held him hostage."

"It sounds _bad_ when you say it like that," Scott scoffed.

"Really trying to think up any way it could possibly sound good," Stiles shot back. At least he knew, now, how he'd actually gotten that restraining order and ultimately gotten his dad fired. And though it didn't make him feel in the least bit less guilty, and despite what he'd said to Scott, at least it had been for obstensibly good purposes. Jackson had been killing people and they were trying to stop it.

Just, wow, they'd totally sounded like kids who didn't have any idea what they were doing.

"You nearly told your dad after Jackson escaped," Scott admitted and Stiles was relieved to hear that Previous Stiles had been thinking the same thing. "But then he was already there with your dad, with _his_ dad and the whole restraining order thing happened, so..."

Yeah. Bad timing.

"They're moving," Boyd said suddenly and it actually took Stiles a few moments to realise what he was talking about. When he finally spun around, he could see Dad and Derek walking towards them.

"Okay," Dad announced, a heavy frowned etched into his forehead. "Derek's answered some questions - I have a whole list I'm drawing up, though, so I will be coming back for more. But for now, he's...alleviated _some_ of my concerns." That didn't sound...completely awful. Maybe Dad was going to be okay with this. "For now, I think...I just need to _think_. Stiles?" he asked, gesturing towards the exit.

"Oh." Oh. Now that he'd finally started facing it, he kind of just wanted to get it all done. "I thought I'd stay and-"

" _Stiles_."

"I guess I'm going," he announced, falling into step next to his dad, who was turning away. This brought him within breathing distance from Derek and he kind of just froze there, looking at him as Derek stared back. He knew he still needed to deal with what had and hadn't happened out on the porch last night, but...

Priorities.

Dad. The whole truth. The bigger picture. Right.

Derek was just really nice to stare at. "Um. I'll see you later?"

Derek just kept staring right the hell back. "Yes."

That was an oddly certain response, but before Stiles could think over what it suggested Dad was calling his name again and Stiles was scurrying off.

"Okay," he heard Scott say as he hurried after Dad. "I totally get it now."

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to the wonderful rhiannonhero :) Feedback would be wonderful :)

The drive back home was an exercise in awkwardness. Dad would sit there, silent for a while, before suddenly launching into a question.

"How often has your life been in danger?"

Trying to concentrate on driving and not the inquisition Dad was giving him, Stiles made a face. "Define often."

" _Stiles_."

"I don't really know, okay?" he argued, slowing as they approached a turn. "Can I just point out that you're asking the amnesiac questions?"

"But you are remembering things."

Stiles conceded the point, checking for traffic as he took the turn. "Some things. And I guess..." He just didn't like talking about this stuff, because it'd only make Dad worry. But, dealing with the bigger picture meant Dad probably actually had to know about as much of it as possible. "It seemed like a lot? I mean, earlier on," he added quickly, throwing Dad a quick glance. He looked unsurprisingly displeased. "But not so much lately. If at all." That definitely felt true enough. Most of the memories he'd had that were closer to present day had been calmer, without the constant oppressive feel of being under attack. Plus, he'd remembered nothing specific in those memories about anything evil needing its ass kicked (or more accurately with the way things had seemed to go in the past, kicking their asses), so his theory that the supernatural situation had calmed dramatically was still holding strong.

Taking it all in, Dad nodded. "That's what Derek said."

Well...good. Their stories should be similar because they were the truth - or at least what Stiles remembered of it.

They'd gone maybe two hundred yards when Dad asked another question.

"How many times have you broken the law?"

Stiles made another face because even if he didn't remember specifically, it was pretty damn obvious from the kind of things they'd probably ended up doing that worrying about breaking the law hadn't really come into play. "Um, I can't really give you a ball park figure?" Dad cursed from the passenger seat. "Again, what do you want me to say? I can't remember the details but I'm sure if it meant saving someone's life - or stopping an evil bad guy, or girl or _thing_ \- we went ahead and did it." Okay, yeah, he could sound like less of an asshole about it. "But I'm sure it was only when absolutely necessary." There. That sounded better, at least.

Sighing, Dad nodded again. "That's what Derek said."

Was Dad just double-checking everything Derek had told him?

"How in the hell has your school work not suffered?" Dad suddenly blurted and - yeah, totally reasonable question.

Stiles honestly had no idea. "Just a genius, I guess," he joked, and...

Yeah. It wasn't a complete surprise.

"Yeah," Dad murmured. "That's what Derek said."

Dad was silent, then, for a long while and it was only as Stiles turned into their street that he spoke again.

"So," he began in a way that was so casual it was in fact not in any way casual, "if you and Derek..."

Wherever this was going, Stiles already knew he wasn't going to enjoy it. He tried to brace himself for whatever new kind of awkwardness was about to enter his life.

It didn't do any good.

"I mean, he's a werewolf," Dad pointed out, like this was somehow new information to Stiles. "A werewolf, Jesus," Dad shook his head, chuckling briefly at the ludicrousness of it all. Stiles could see their drive rapidly approaching, thank God. "Does that mean," Dad continued, then paused. "I mean. He's a werewolf. You're a human. Is that considered bestiality?"

Stiles barely managed to avoid driving into Dad's cruiser, screeching to a sudden stop and cutting the engine.

"Holy shit, Dad!" And nope, right now he did not care about cursing in front of Dad, not one iota (and he didn't care that he'd wondered the same thing himself). "Do you want me to drive into the house? And I swear to God, if you tell me 'That's what Derek said' I'll-"

"Calm your ass down," Dad ordered in that tone of voice that'd always shut Stiles up. He immediately lapsed into silence as Dad continued talking. "I'm _sorry_ ," Dad said, not sounding in the least bit sorry, "if I'm not handling this as well as you'd like me to. But apparently the fact that you've been running around with _werewolves_ and having your life threatened and breaking God knows how many different laws is a lot to deal with!"

No, no, he did _not_ get to go there. "But this is what you wanted!" Stiles yelled back. "His big secret? My big secret? Well, congratulations, you finally got it! Only now you don't want it, which is just great, because I'm pretty sure he - and I - can't get through this without you!"

They stared at each other angrily - and then Dad was yanking him close, wrapping his arms around him, Stiles' face stuffed awkwardly against Dad's shoulder. "You idiot," Dad said fondly. "I want to know. I _always_ want to know."

It wasn't their most comfortable hug, but Stiles didn't care. He dug the fingers of one hand into Dad's jacket and just hung on, feeling tears prick the back of his eyes. Shit, Dad was right, though. Even with only what he remembered, it was a lot to deal with.

"How _did_ you get through this?" Dad asked, mostly rhetorical.

Sighing heavily, Stiles sagged against him and answered the question anyway. "I have no idea."

They stayed like that for a while. The gear stick was digging into Stiles' leg, but he wasn't about to be the one to end the hug. Dad had obviously been so worried about him for so long and, though they weren't anything like he'd expected, he finally had some answers now. He had the truth.

"We should get inside," Dad said eventually, "or we'll really give the neighbours something to talk about."

Huffing out a laugh, Stiles nonetheless extricated himself from his dad. Feeling happier and lighter than he had since waking up in the hospital, he locked the jeep up and followed Dad towards the house.

Only something made him stop. He wasn't sure what it was, exactly. A feeling. An awareness. All he knew was that _something_ was wrong, and when he turned around he realised why.

Peter Hale was standing at the end of the drive.

Dad had obviously noticed, too, his voice sounding from behind him. "Stiles?"

Making a point to deliberately turn his back on Peter like Stiles didn't see him as a threat, like Peter wasn't important enough to be a threat, he widened his eyes to Dad as if to say _Trouble_. His voice, however, was calm and carefree. "I got it, Dad. You can head in."

He was already disturbingly good at this for someone who had little memory of it.

Turning back to face Peter, who hadn't moved at all, Stiles took a few steps towards him. "So, tell me something," Stiles began casually, wondering if he could bullshit long enough for Dad to do whatever he was going to do.

What was he thinking? He was _Stiles_. He could bullshit for America.

"This is something I've actually been wondering," he continued. "Do you guys get sent on How-To-Be-A-Creeper training courses? I mean, is it in the Werewolf Handbook that this is a mandatory part of the learning experience? I gotta tell ya, you give Derek a run for his money."

Peter smiled, like Stiles was really, really entertaining. "I'm impressed," he said, truly sounding it. "For a man who's still missing most of who he really is, that was very good. Outwardly unaffected by my presence," Peter listed, slowly stepping closer with each word. "Making some of your trademark quips to show that it's business as usual, like you're really not bothered I'm here. Quietly slipping in the werewolf reference so I'll know you'll know what I'm capable of, but you're still not afraid of me. Unfortunately for you, Stiles," Peter said, much too close now. Stiles forced himself not to swallow, to hold Peter's gaze. "Your problem is what it always was." And then suddenly, so quickly Stiles didn't even see it happen, Peter's hand was wrapped around Stiles' wrist. "You never did learn to control your pulse."

Fuck. Stiles flared his nostrils; remembered what'd happened the night Peter had appeared in his bedroom. Took a chance. "Let go."

Still producing a closed-mouth smile, Peter slowly brought Stiles' wrist up towards his mouth - and Stiles knew, he knew that it wouldn't do anything, that Peter wasn't an Alpha anymore and apparently that was a requirement, but his heart was pounding just the same - and then Peter released him. Stepped back. And simply said, "As you wish."

Stiles just stared at him, silently grateful as hell that that'd worked. "Dude, you are seriously screwed up."

"How rude," Peter remarked, "especially when I've come all this way just to help you."

That didn't seem like something worth celebrating. "Lucky me."

"I like you, Stiles," Peter announced and, disturbingly, it wasn't a surprise. "And as I've already said, I'm quite fond of my nephew, too."

Stiles folded his arms across his chest, wondering what the hell was taking Dad so long."If we're just going to stand here listing all the people we do and don't like, this could take a while."

Peter's lips twitched. "Touché. I'm an altruist at heart - all I want is for you crazy kids to get it together." And. Well. Erica had said something about that, but...it was actually true?

" _Why_?" he demanded, dumbstruck.

"Because I _like_ you," Peter repeated, like Stiles was disappointing him or something. "And it's obvious - for whatever reason, which truly is beyond me, like any appeal that Miley Cyrus person has - who the object of your affection is these days. Although really, Stiles, he's such a step down from Lydia."

So, apparently, Derek's hugely disturbing and creepy uncle had assigned himself their matchmaker? What the hell? "Assuming I buy any of this," Stiles said, because he really didn't, there had to be an ulterior motive somewhere. "How is it, exactly, that you think you can help?"

Peter seemed only too eager to explain. "You can't be with a werewolf - truly _be_ with them - until you know them. All of them." Peter smiled - with teeth, this time. "And everything they're capable of." That didn't sound good. "You see, what Derek did to me, just for coming into your room that night? That was bad enough." Whatever the hell it was that Derek had done, Stiles knew it hadn't been enough. "But what he did to _Deaton._ "

Stiles' blood ran cold, despite himself. He wasn't asking. He _wasn't_. This was just a ploy, despite everything Peter had said. He wasn't trying to help them. If anything, he was probably trying to drive them apart, just for kicks.

"Oh," Peter continued, "that was truly inspired. Creative, even." He stepped forward again, leaning into Stiles' personal space. "Something I would've been proud of, once upon a time."

Stiles was saved from responding when he the heard the sound of a gun cocking behind him. _Finally_.

"I've learned a lot of interesting things today," Dad's voice said from behind him, and Peter stepped back. "Still trying to deal with it, to be honest. But one of the most important parts of my job? Is to observe. I might be new at this, but I know a werewolf now when I see one. And I know intimidation when I see it. And while I know these won't kill you," he continued, "they'll sure as hell hurt like a son of a bitch. So you get the _hell_ away from my son, get the _hell_ off my property and _never_ come back here again."

Peter was already moving, half-bowing as he stepped back - what the hell? - when Derek's Camaro screeched up at the bottom of the drive, and then Derek himself opened the door, jumping out.

So _that_ was what Dad had been doing.

Peter took off running. Derek started up the drive, eyes running over Stiles. "Are you-?"

"I'm fine," he said quickly, because Peter was getting away, and he clearly needed to suffer more of whatever it was Derek had inflicted on him the first time.

"Did he hurt-?"

"I'm _fine_ , go!"

Derek did, chasing after Peter on foot.

There was a hand on the back of his shirt then, Dad tugging him towards the house. "Inside," he ordered, frogmarching Stiles up the steps to the porch. On the way Stiles had seen more than one set of curtains twitching and he knew they'd ended up giving the neighbours a show anyway.

Once inside, Dad slammed the door shut and locked it securely. "Check every window," he told Stiles. "The attic. Every possible place he could enter the house."

The paranoia was understandable given what Dad had witnessed, but Peter wasn't anywhere near them now. "Dad-"

"Do not test me on this," Dad said darkly, before stomping off to check the back door.

Well. Stiles had decided to tell him. Having an overprotective dad now was pretty much his own fault.

Once sure that the house was as secure as it could be for the time being, Dad locked them in the office. It was the room with the smallest window, barring the bathroom, and Dad peered out the window suspiciously.

"So, who was that?"

"Dad, he's not going to hurt me." He paused, thinking it over. "I think."

"That's not answering my question," Dad snapped back and Stiles sighed.

"That's Peter Hale, Derek's uncle."

Dad reared his head back in surprise. "Wait...the guy in the long-term care facility? Who went missing under suspicious circumstances?"

Of course Dad remembered that. It was kind of his job. "Yeah. Turns out he's a werewolf." He splayed his hands wide. "Surprise!"

"But...didn't he have burns over..?"

"Yeah, 70% of his body or something. Werewolf healing, I dunno." Stiles shrugged, because he still didn't know exactly how that'd all worked.

Dad nodded, because this was not actually the strangest thing he'd heard today. "And he's here because?"

Stiles scratched at the side of his neck. "Uh. He's kind of a sociopath?"

Dad fixed him with a glinty stare. "If you're trying to make me feel better, you need to try harder."

He winced. "No, no, sociopath is good. He used to be a psychopath so really, big improvement."

Sighing, Dad shook his head. "That still doesn't actually answer why he's here."

Yeah. That. "Uh." Stiles squirmed. "He likes me? I think. I mean, kind of hard to tell what his motives really are what with him being a sociopath, so."

"Stiles..."

"Look, long story short, he used to do very, very bad things. There was this whole coming back to life deal - and apparently, since then, we've had to work with him a few times and he's not doing those bad things anymore." Scott had tried explaining it to him during the week, the way Peter had changed. Although he'd sure as hell never mentioned knowing anything about Peter's apparent fondness for Stiles.

Ick.

"All I know is," he rushed on, "is that yes, he's really creepy and has serious personal space issues, but this is the second time he could've hurt me - done more than just hurt me - and he hasn't. In fact, everytime I've told him to stop doing something, he has. So...maybe actual sociopath but not actual threat?" God, he hoped he was right. "And honestly? You going all Overprotective Dad on me is freaking me out more and making me think the situation's worse than it really is."

Expression softening, at least a little, Dad touched his shoulder. "Consequences of the truth, kid. Live with it." Stiles rolled his eyes. "So what you're telling me, is that he...has a crush on you?"

Yeah, this wasn't awkward. Stiles didn't really know, but it was the impression he was getting. "Maybe? Or the werewolf equivalent."

Shaking his head, Dad looked back out the window. "Huh. Guess your milkshake brings all the werewolves to the yard."

Stiles stared. And stared. And stared. "You did not just-" He stopped, spluttering. Actual _spluttering_.

And Dad was laughing now, laughing his _ass_ off to the point where he had to sit down at his desk chair, and it was amusing yet scary to watch at the same time because Dad was _totally freaking out_. Stiles carefully plucked the gun out of his hands, and Dad just let him.

The laughter dried up, eventually, Dad sitting at the desk with his head in his hands. He sighed heavily. "Jesus, Stiles. How the hell did you live this every day?"

"They're not all like Peter," he pointed out.

"If I didn't already think that," Dad said, "I never would've called Derek."

Point. He never got to answer, though, because he saw movement through the window. "Derek's back." He moved towards the door but Dad stopped him, taking his gun back and looking annoyed that Stiles had ever needed to touch it at all.

"I'll go."

Stiles wasn't allowed to show his face downstairs until Derek was safely inside and the door was locked again (this was going to get really old, really fast).

"Where's-?" Derek asked, but Stiles was already running down the stairs. When he got to the bottom there was an awkward moment when neither one of them was sure if they should do anything and just kind of stood there, staring.

Muttering something, Dad moved away. "I need a drink."

"Peter?" Stiles asked immediately.

"Lost him," Derek said angrily.

That was surprising. "I thought Alphas were faster?"

He nodded tightly. "He's...wily."

Stiles had to purse his lips together at that choice of word, because for some reason it was just hilarious. He thought back to everything he'd told Dad up in the office. "He's...not actually going to hurt me, right?"

"I don't think so," he shook his head. "But I...I should've warned you more about him. That he..."

"Likes me?"

Derek nodded again, looking seriously displeased at the prospect.

"At least he has great taste," Stiles joked because really, what else was he supposed to say to that?

Derek just continued looking angry. "After I...spoke to him about the night he came to your room. I thought I'd made my position perfectly clear."

Stiles wasn't going to ask. He wasn't. He wasn't.

...shit.

"Like with Deaton?"

Frowning at him, Derek tipped his head to one side, studying Stiles knowingly. "Peter said something."

Stiles closed his eyes. "Yeah." He'd known Peter was full of shit, but he'd doubted Derek anyway. "Sorry."

Derek shook his head. "This is what he does. Comes to people when they're vulnerable. Plays on it. Deaton's a long-time family friend. I did express my...displeasure about what happened, but that's all. Just remember," he added, "If you didn't have amnesia, Peter never would've done any of this because you'd know all this about him yourself."

"Why does he do it at all?"

"It's fun," he said, although he shrugged like he wasn't really sure himself. "I think it's his form of entertainment. He may think he's better than them, but he's fascinated by humans."

Letting out a breath, Stiles thought back to his dad. "We better get in there." He nodded towards the kitcehn. "Try and convince Dad I don't need an armed guard for the rest of my life. Parents are so overprotective," he said and then...paused. Studied Derek. "You kind of were, too. For a guy who thinks Peter's not going to hurt me."

Looking off to one side, Derek shrugged awkwardly. "Can't take the chance."

Derek wasn't being adorable again. He wasn't. "Well," he announced, waving his arm around, "luckily for us the worst thing he did was grab my wrist, so-"

Derek had Stiles' wrist in his hand a split-second later. Then immediately let go, as if realising what he was doing.

Licking his lips, not really sure what he was doing but knowing it was important, Stiles deliberately held his wrist out towards Derek. "It's okay."

Pausing, meeting Stiles' gaze, Derek waited until he nodded before reaching out again, slowly this time, gently grabbing Stiles' wrist with his hand. Holding Stiles' gaze the entire time, he brought the wrist up to his face and Stiles honestly wasn't scared, not even for a second. Closing his eyes, Derek inhaled deeply - and when his eyes suddenly snapped open again they were red, a low rumble of displeasure sounding in his chest.

Stiles was totally turned on right now. That probably said a lot about him.

Lowering Stiles' wrist again, Derek didn't immediately let go, instead taking the time to rub both of his hands slowly over any part of Stiles' wrist that Peter had touched.

Stiles felt like one of those cartoon dogs whose tongues were hanging out. It was ridiculous how hot he was finding this, the simple act of skin brushing against skin, body heat against body heat.

Only, this was Derek. And Derek was a werewolf. And there was nothing simple about what he was doing.

And just like that, Derek let go. Staring down in shock at Stiles' arm - still held out towards him - as if surprised at what he'd been doing.

Then he moved and Stiles was pretty sure that Derek literally _ran_ for the kitchen.

Just to get away from him.

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the terrific rhiannonhero :) Feedback would be wonderful :)

Between the two of them, they tried to convince Dad that Stiles didn't need to stay under 24-hour Overprotective Dad Watch.

Stiles couldn't help but notice that Derek was standing as far away from him as possible, hovering by the back door.

"But if you're saying he's not a physical threat," Dad was asking from where he stood at the counter, a bottle of scotch and a glass resting in front of him, "you sure as hell didn't act like it, getting here as fast as you did. Running after him."

Derek's face looked truly uncomfortable. "Stiles is still missing a lot of information - that makes him vulnerable. I knew that."

"Vulnerable to what, if not violence?"

"Manipulation," Derek explained. "It's what Peter always did best - even before the fire." That was comforting. "Peter was trying to involve him in one of his twisted games, take advantage of his amnesia. I couldn't let that happen."

The thought was sweet and all, but really. "First of all," Stiles began, because he had a _list_ , "I'm a little - actually, more than a little offended that you'd think I'd ever really be taken in by Mr Crazy Pants. Yes, yes," he quickly added when Derek opened his mouth to say something, "he's good at it, he's an expert study of the human psyche, I temporarily believed him about Deaton, whatever. I knew I couldn't trust him the moment he first appeared in my bedroom in the middle of the night-"

"He was in your _bedroom_?"

Aww, crap. Derek just rolled his eyes at him as Stiles tried to produce a reassurring smile for his dad. "Okay, yes. I probably should've mentioned that. But!" He gestured with both hands. "He left me alone when I told him to. In fact, every time I've told him to stop doing something, he has. _Clearly_ he has issues," because hey, he so wasn't doubting that, "but I seriously don't think he's going to do anything to me outright. For one thing," he added, quickly flicking his gaze over to Derek before looking away, "he knows it'd cause him...trouble."

Derek grunted his acknowledgement. It was nice to have it confirmed.

Sighing, Dad reached for his glass. "I don't know, Stiles. I'm still trying to deal with... _all_ of this, but this doesn't seem right, even for werewolves. Uh," he added, no doubt thinking of Derek, "no offense."

"None taken."

"I mean," Dad continued, "breaking into the house? Turning up in your room in the middle of the night? That's not the behaviour of someone who's...normal."

Stiles looked at Derek pointedly.

Derek just glared right back.

"But I told him to get out and he did. And he didn't come back, right? He didn't even come into the house this time. He is...following the guidelines he's being given. For whatever reason. I don't think he's going to do anything." Stiles kind of couldn't believe he was making an argument for leaving Peter alone - but then, he really was doing it for his own benefit, so Dad didn't feel compelled to keep him on lockdown.

"If I thought he was being that big a threat," Derek announced, probably thinking he was being helpful, "I'd kill him." He paused. "Again." Stiles just rolled his eyes.

Dad gulped down the last of the scotch before turning to face Derek speculatively. "Do me a favour? Don't mention murder in front of me. Even if it is the asshole stalking my son. That said," he conceded, "is there a particular reason you...haven't murdered him?"

Stiles' mouth fell open. "Dad!"

"Not that I'm advocating murder," he quickly added.

"Derek's not a murderer," Stiles felt compelled to point out, but then realised he actually kind of was. He hadn't considered this much before. "It's only ever been people who were killing others." Actually... "Right?" he asked Derek, because he was pretty sure he was right but he was still fuzzy on some of the details. Derek nodded. Good. "Right."

"You're my _son_ , Stiles," Dad argued. "My own flesh and blood. The only family I have left. You think I'm not going to do everything I can to keep you safe?"

Derek snorted then, which totally ruined the moment. Realising the disapproving looks he was getting from both the Stilinskis, he shook his head. "I wasn't..." he shrugged, then explained. "Peter's the only family I have left."

Stiles had known that, he had. He just...forgot, sometimes. Man, that sounded bad.

As screwed up as their dynamic was, of course Derek didn't want to kill Peter - he was his last living relative.

"Look," Derek said, "like I said, he's only a threat when he thinks he can manipulate someone. He finds it entertaining. He enjoys the show. He knows that by...interacting with Stiles, he'll get one."

"Why?" Stiles asked, frowning. And then saw that Derek _and_ Dad were looking at him like he was not only dumb, but like he was the dumbest person on the face of the planet. " _Oh_ ," he said, face flushing as glanced across at Derek, before dropping his head. Apparently, that cat was firmly and obviously out of the Derek bag. He really didn't know how he felt about that. "Anyway," he rushed on, eager to change the subject, "there's an easy way to fix the 'Stiles is missing a lot of information and that apparently makes him easy to manipulate even though he's not an idiot' thing." He made a point to eye them both, despite the still-present flush of embarrassment. "We go back to the warehouse tomorrow, and you and the others tell me - and Dad - everything that we need to know. _Everything_ ," he emphasised because he'd made this decision, this choice now, and he was going to stick with it. He couldn't back-out now. "So even if I'm still technically missing memories, at least I'll know everything."

Seeming satisfied with that arrangement, Derek looked over to Dad. "That work for you, Sheriff?"

"Sure," Dad said, gesturing with his glass. "Actually," he revised, "tomorrow's a good idea. Gives me some time to...think." Frowning heavily, he snatched up the bottle and started moving around the counter. "I'll be in my office."

Pushing his stool back quickly, Stiles managed to intercept his dad before he made it out the kitchen. Holding out one hand with a knowing look, he didn't give in until Dad handed the bottle across with an angry sigh. Once Dad was gone, Stiles put the scotch away in the first cupboard he came to, and faced Derek.

Who was still lingering by the back door. "I should go," he said.

"Probably," Stiles agreed, because he was coming up with one of those bad ideas again. He ended up going with it anyway. "You freaked out earlier," he said. "After...the thing with the wrist." He gestured with the hand that'd received some extremely enjoyable fondling earlier. He didn't need to say anything else, because the question was implied.

Derek looked really, really uncomfortable and, quite frankly, like he wanted to bolt again. Thankfully, this time, he managed to get out, "You're him. But not."

So Derek's discomfort over this situation stemmed largely from the same area as Stiles' did. That kind of made sense - or as much as anything did in this situation. "You think it's weird for you?" he asked with a deprecating smile. "When I remember something I can...feel the things he did. Feel the way he did. But it's not _my_ feelings, if that even makes any sense." He was so busy contemplating that, that it took him a while to realise the expression Derek was trying to keep off his face - hurt. Shit, he hadn't meant to be cruel about this, he hadn't meant to do that at all.

There was an interesting psychological question here, somewhere. Could someone, who was the same in every way except for 18 months of missing memories, develop feelings for the same person all over again?

Stiles knew he was at least some of the way there. "Yet," he added, because it was true. Sometimes it got to the point where he didn't know where his feelings ended and Previous Stiles' feelings began. "Because we're a..." he thought of something, smiled. "Work in progress."

That did make Derek look better at least; definitely less sorry for himself. "Date keeps getting pushed back," he joked, and if he could joke about it he was definitely feeling better.

But now it was Stiles who couldn't help but take it seriously, becoming more and more sure that there had been some understanding between them before he forgot everything. "Must be frustrating."

" _Extremely_ ," Derek admitted - and then he was moving again like he had earlier, brushing past Stiles on his way out the house. Stiles thought he heard him say something about having to go, but then the door was slamming shut and Stiles just stared at it, confused.

Sighing, he made his way to the front of the house and when he heard a noise, looked up to see Dad standing at the top of the stairs.

"Kid," Dad said, "if you're seriously still going to try and tell me there's nothing going on between the two of you, I'm not buying it."

Rolling his eyes - because that was really helpful, thanks, Dad - Stiles purposefully ignored him until he heard Dad's feet moving away on the floorboards upstairs. Only now he was standing in the same place he had earlier, when Derek had first arrived. The same place Derek had held his wrist, rubbed his hands all over it like he was _claiming_ him or something...

Stiles barely had the lock thrown across his bedroom door before the zipper was open and his hand was down his pants.

He'd somehow forgotten, in what was really only a week and a half, how _good_ this felt. Probably because, what with the head injury, he hadn't felt like jerking off until now. Stumbling across the room with his pants halfway down his thighs, Stiles tugged down his briefs and threw his body down, back-first, onto the bed. Licking a tongue across his right palm, Stiles got right back to business. It wasn't going to be long, or drawn-out. It may have really only been a week and a half, but for Stiles it'd been a year and a half, too. It really wasn't going to take long; not with Derek as the object of his horny affections. He worked his dick quickly, tightening the grip, twisting just the way he'd learned he liked it, pressing his lips together to help him keep quiet. He couldn't spread his legs much with his pants still trapped around them but that made it better, somehow, not being able to move and he just had to think of Derek and his red eyes when he'd smelled his skin and the way he'd rubbed his hands over Stiles' wrist and warmth pressure skin Derek Derek Derek-

His sneakers pressed down into the mattress and he didn't care didn't care didn't care, just let out a long breath through his nose, mouth still clamped shut as his body jerked and shook and shook and shook. Panting, opening his mouth, Stiles' body relaxed against the bed, arm flopping to one side.

Wow. Yeah. Okay. Jerking off was definitely still awesome in this slightly different body.

When he'd recovered enough, he was totally doing that again. He had a lot of lost time to make up for.

*

The next morning, when Stiles was a lot more bleary-eyed than he should've been for someone who 'went to bed' at the time he did, Dad was not in any way watching him suspiciously. Dad also seemed much more ready to face the idea of werewolves existing - something Stiles couldn't help but point out, was eager to point out so Dad would stop staring at him.

"It's like your mom always said," Dad told him, as they climbed into the jeep. "Sleep on it, and you'll feel better. Though, admittedly, I'm sure she never thought we'd be sleeping on the topic of werewolves."

_"Could we watch something that's not science fiction, fantasy or based on a comic book? Just once?"_

_Stiles didn't even look up, just smiled as he kept flicking through the options in the **Science Fiction - Fantasy** section. "Have I ever steered you wrong?" Stiles didn't need to move his head to know that Derek was staring at him in a way that said, _ Yes, many times _. Which was a complete and total lie._

_Apart from that one time with the ghoul._

_"Sleep on it and get back to me," Stiles said instead. "I think you'll find my choices are invaluable."_

_Once they'd exhausted Stiles' DVD collection, it'd somehow become their joint responsibility to pick up snacks and a movie everytime they had a pack movie night. If he were honest with himself, Stiles was almost starting to enjoy these moments more - the teasing and squabbling over which movie to watch, the arguments over which snacks to get and the best place to buy them. Derek argued they might as well just buy the snacks at the DVD store. Stiles called him a heathen - a **heathen** \- for not wanting to indulge in the much larger snack aisle that the grocery store provided._

_They always ended up at the grocery store. Stiles knew who the real Alpha of the pack was._

_In the few months since The Healing Incident Thing and these movie nights had started, they really had become closer. And since that night a few weeks ago, when Derek had fumbled over an offer to be there for him and his dad, they'd become closer still. Stiles knew it had a lot to do with the fact that he'd finally bought a clue and realised that Derek liked him. **Liked** liked him. Honestly, the idea hadn't even been on his radar no matter how attractive he'd always found Derek, for numerous reasons. Lydia, school, lacrosse, their sucky lives that were slowly beginning to suck not quite as much._

_It wasn't as if they even talked all that much. They didn't see each other every day; most of their communicating was still done via text message. They'd just got really good at reading each other, lately. Stiles knew that most of his emotions were always all over his face anyway, but he'd personally become an expert decipherer of Moody Glare v1.0, Moody Glare v1.1, and so on. They were all slightly different and meant slightly different things, and - quite honesly - didn't appear as much as they used to. Now he was having to figure out Hint of A Smile v2.3 or It's-Fondness-Really Eye Rolling, v3.6 (there was still a lot of eye rolling. Some things were never going to change)._

_So, things were changing and he knew things were changing - but he still didn't know if he should do anything about it. When he'd realised how Derek had felt about him, he'd been hesitant because they were both so screwed up. Derek had lost so much, Stiles had been cresting the wave of a constant panic attack for what'd felt like endless months. But...that wasn't quite true anymore. Stiles wasn't **good** , not really, but he was doing better now than he had in months, wasn't having to force himself not to jump at every unexplained noise or sudden movement. And Derek was still Derek, but he seemed...calmer. A little softer around the edges._

_Stiles just really liked where they were right now. How comfortable they'd become with each other. He had something good in his life, finally, and he wasn't sure he wanted that to change._

_Of course, the gaudy tinsel strewn around the store kept bringing something else to mind, too._

_"You guys still doing Christmas?"_

_"Apparently." Derek sighed the sigh of the long-suffering. Erica had made it clear some weeks ago that she wasn't missing out on Christmas, even if it was going to be with cold-cuts (Scott's mom had invited them over but Scott had told her - with their blessing - that they all had plans, quietly worried his dad would turn up and make a scene the way he had been for a while now. Derek was still infuriated that Scott wouldn't let him intervene personally). There was a tiny Christmas tree in the corner of the warehouse that had nothing to do with Stiles whatsoever. He certainly hadn't helped Isaac pick it out, who'd been ridiculously excited about the whole thing, and he certainly hadn't organised a pack decorating evening, much to Derek's silent but equally apparent disgust._

_"You know they need it," he reminded, because they'd discussed it at the time. Derek's relationship with just about everyone in the pack had improved in leaps and bounds - Allison was understandably still hit and miss, although getting more hit than miss, these days - and he'd come to recognise that they needed these routines, these pieces of a normal life._

_Stiles' next plan was to get Derek living in an actual house, and not one that was literally falling down around him._

_"I know," Derek admitted, suddenly focusing extremely intently on a DVD he'd picked up. Stiles was pretty sure Derek had no idea at all what movie it was. "Family holidays are just..."_

_Stiles knew. It'd been the same at Thanksgiving. Derek had let them get on and do whatever they'd wanted to do, but hadn't really got involved._

_"But you're doing the right thing by them," Stiles reminded him, "and that's all they really need."_

_Derek didn't respond at all, just turned the DVD over to 'study' the other side. Shaking his head, Stiles moved away to give him the space he so obviously needed._

_He was tracked down in the **Action - Adventure** section a few minutes later, Derek holding the last DVD Stiles had been contemplating in the **Science Fiction - Fantasy** section._

_They stared at each other._

_"We need to get snacks. Let's go," Derek said, and they did._

Dad was saying something.

Blinking, Stiles shook his head and faced him. "Sorry," he said, automatically reaching for his seat belt.

"Memory?" Dad asked, no doubt getting used to this happening. Dad had confirmed that, even though it could feel like ages to him, these flashbacks - for whatever reason - were taking less and less time for him to experience in the real world. Now they were down to split-seconds, leaving Stiles with a sudden rush of emotion each time.

"Yeah." Stiles nodded, starting the engine, moving the gear stick, checking the mirrors.

"A good one?"

Stiles didn't even know _why_ but he turned his head away, pretending he was fiddling with his window - it was always getting jammed - just so he could keep the resulting smile to himself. "Yeah," was all he said, and then he was pulling away from the curb.

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the terrific rhiannonhero :) Feedback would be wonderful :)

Stiles had a pounding headache, no doubt because the rest of the group was doing exactly what he'd asked - they were telling him everything.

It was taking a long time. And it wasn't absolutely everything that'd happened, he was sure, because they could only tell him what they knew, as well as some moments being much too personal to share. Allison hadn't turned up at all, Scott - and even Derek - being strange and hesitant about it. It quickly became evident why when he found out how and why her mom died and the things that'd happened afterward.

It was so much to take in. No wonder Previous Stiles had found it so hard to cope. Being caught inbetween werewolves, lizards and hunters. Watching his best friend having to deal with this huge and sudden change in his life. Stiles being asked to cut someone's arm off (Stiles didn't know what was more disturbing - Derek insisting, or Stiles apparently actually being ready to do it). Derek being 'killed' right in front of them. Being trapped in the school with a murderous Peter. Lydia being attacked and going missing. Jackson being used as a weapon for a personal vendetta. Being paralysed - multiple times, apparently - and being forced to watch someone get squashed to death right in front of him (Dad had pulled him to his chest upon hearing that, calling him an idiot for never telling him the truth and having to deal with it alone).

Having to help someone else who'd been paralysed, keeping Derek afloat for two hours while the kanima kept them penned in (Stiles couldn't imagine how terrifying that must've been. Not just being trapped in the pool with no way out, but knowing that if he didn't keep going, if he messed up, he'd be personally responsible for someone _dying_ ).

Dad, who'd seemed so much better with everything as they'd left the house this morning, was right back at square one. "The attack on the precinct?" he asked, disbelieving. "All those people, good people, dead because of some...teenager with a grudge?"

Didn't make any sense to Stiles, either.

"Matt was crazy," Scott announced, surprising no one. "But in the end I...almost felt sorry for him."

"That makes one of us," Stiles snorted, then rolled his eyes at the look Scott gave him. "Come on. Crazy or not, tragic past or not, I'm sorry, there's no excuse for killing a bunch of innocent people or hitting them over the head with a gun like-"

_Stiles hadn't thought the situation could possibly get any worse - paralysed on the floor next to Derek, kanima Jackson watching over them, their deaths no doubt imminent and Dad chained up next to the cells, with no way of escaping._

_Of course, just because life liked kicking him in the ass, the situation did get worse. Exponentially worse. Main power cut out and Stiles barely had time to ask what the hell was going on when bullets - not werewolves, or kanimas or anything supernatural but real, human **bullets** \- started bursting into the building. Matt yelled something - at least this wasn't part of his plan, but that meant something else was going on and seriously, his life **sucked** \- and though most of the bullets weren't making it into the room he and Derek had been left in, Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, wincing, tensing up the few parts of his body that he could, just waiting for a stray bullet to get lucky._

_"Stiles," Derek said next to him when there was a pause in the gunfire, "breathe."_

_He hadn't even realised that he'd clamped his mouth shut but he followed the instruction instinctively, heaving in a breath._

_Just in time to suck in a lungful of smoke from one of the smoke bombs someone had so thoughtfully provided._

_Managing to keep his spluttering down to a minimum of coughing - he really didn't want to draw attention to their location; the gunfire had drawn Jackson away now but gunfire also meant **people with guns** \- he could've cried with relief when Scott came running into the darkened room._

_Derek immediately ordered Scott to get Stiles out of there - Derek was totally getting a bag of Stiles' favourite donuts if they all managed to get out of this without dying horribly - but all thoughts of donuts were pushed immediately out of his head as Jackson started chasing them. **Them**. Scott and a Still-Paralysed-And-Thus-Even-Less-Help-Than-Usual-Stiles. He made random noises of fear and protest as he was hoisted from one room to the next - thank God for werewolf strength - certain Jackson was about to reach them at any moment, and then finally, finally they made it through a door that even Jackson's kanima strength couldn't seem to get through._

_Scott left him in an interview room eventually and Stiles couldn't blame him - there was still God knew what going on out there, no time to get Stiles to real safety - and he had no intention of staying where he'd been put, anyway. Dad was out there with werewolves, kanimas and people with guns, with even less of an idea of what was going on than Stiles had._

_His mostly-useless body was slowly starting to come back on-line - fancy werewolf healing processes, whatever. He still couldn't stand but he shimmied down from the chair Scott had left him in and flopped onto the floor (he was going to have some very interesting bruises later, to match the ones Matt had probably left on his neck). Slowly dragging himself through the building on mostly-numb arms was a singularly terrifying experience, knowing he'd have no defense against anyone or anything who decided he was inconveniently in the way of their feet. He didn't stop, couldn't stop, **Dad** , forced himself to pass the bodies of men and women he'd known for years (Frank had convinced Dad that a boy Stiles' age should have the jeep; Susan had once kicked his ass at softball - only once, because he'd always made sure he was on her team, after that)._

_Finally, finally - seconds, minutes, hours later - Stiles could see the holding area as he slowly pulled his body around the corner, see Dad, but Matt was there Matt was there with a gun, hitting Dad with it and as Dad crumpled to the floor, unconscious, the terror took over completely._

_Stiles stopped breathing._

_Dad was laying there, helpess, just as Stiles was laying here, helpless, and he tried to stretch, tried to reach, tried to move but he was never going to get there in time and Matt was going to **kill Dad**._

_Derek suddenly stepped into the room, roaring._

_Air rushed back into Stiles' lungs._

_Derek was a dick but he'd never let anything bad happen to Stiles, not if he could help it, and Stiles knew with a certainty borne of experience that he wouldn't let this happen, now._

_Stiles had a moment of doubt when the kanima appeared, but then Matt ran off and it was full-on werewolf versus kanima time. Stiles would've appreciated the epic fight a lot more under any other circumstances, but Derek was kind of getting his ass kicked and fear was starting to strengthen its hold again. When it looked like Derek was staying down, the kanima focused on Mrs McCall, who - Stiles had totally forgotten was there. He vaguely remembered seeing Matt talk to her briefly before Derek had turned up, but it so hadn't been his focus. She was safe, at least, behind the bars, and then Scott leapt into the room, attacking and surprising the kanima. It took off and Derek suddenly sprung up, chasing right behind it._

_Stiles witnessed the incredibly awkward moment when Mrs McCall saw what her son really was. He would've had a lot more thoughts about the meaning and consequences of it if he hadn't been so worried about Dad. Scott didn't say anything, simply leaving silently, probably thinking his mom was safest for the moment locked up in the cell. He was probably right._

_He started moving again, focusing on dragging himself forward. It was starting to get a little easier._

_"S-Stiles?" Mrs McCall asked when she noticed, voice thick with terror and tears. "Are you...what's...Scott was a... **thing**."_

_He said nothing - what could he possibly say right now? - but eventually realised that Scott's mom had pulled herself together enough to start encouraging him, giving him words of support and it actually helped, a little. He let out a huge sigh of relief when he finally reached Dad, lifted a shaky hand to feel the solid pulse throbbing in his neck. Even managed to produce a single relieved chuckle. Dad was okay. Dad was **okay** , and if anyone came back to finish him off, they'd have to get through Stiles to do it._

_Putting as much of his body between Dad and the door as he could, Stiles finally let his mind run free on to something else, because if he kept focusing on everything that'd happened since Matt first pulled the gun on him, he was probably going to end up a sobbing mess on the floor._

_"Okay, Mrs McCall," he told her, tipping his head back to glimpse her tear-stained face through the bars, "we're gonna hope that Scott or someone comes back ASAP to get us all out of here. But failing that, this is what we're gonna tell the cops."_

"Stiles?"

They were all staring at him with concern - all of them, which considering there were eight people standing or sitting around him at the moment was more than a little disconcerting. Their concern definitely made sense, though, considering the tears that'd suddenly flooding his eyes.

Jesus. That'd been...

"Stiles?" Dad asked gently.

Oh, God. He was so, so glad that Dad was okay. Swallowing back the lump in his throat, Stiles wiped a hand quickly across his eyes, well aware that he had an audience. He didn't think for a second that any of them would judge him for it, but it still left him feeling much too exposed. "That was..." he sniffed, unable to explain the level or intensity of emotion he'd felt. "The shittiest memory by far. By _light years._ " That still didn't do it justice.

Spying movement from the corner of his eye, he glanced up to see Erica and Boyd looking at each other sadly, knowingly. It didn't make any sense because, as far as Stiles could tell, they hadn't even been there. Which meant...they were thinking of something else. A different memory. And whatever it was, Stiles didn't want to know, he did not want to-

_Pain blossomed across his face and Stiles didn't think it was going to stop, didn't think it was ever going to stop. He didn't know how it was possible, how Gerard could just keep hitting him over and over, without getting tired. He'd started off on Stiles' face but had quickly moved on to whichever part of the body he could reach. Stiles knew already he'd have bruises coming up all over - if he got through this, if he actually lived through this because Gerard was clearly just as fucking cuckoo as his daughter - and he couldn't do anything, couldn't do **anything** except lay there and take it, feeling as useless as he had on the floor of the precinct with no idea, no freaking idea what he was even doing there._

_Gerard stopped at some point and Stiles still lay there, just taking the opportunity to breathe, tasting blood and snot and tears. Focusing fuzzily on Boyd and Erica, still gagged and hanging from the ceiling, he realised they were deliberately trying not to look at him, like what was being done to him was something terrible to look at._

_Which was ridiculous. There were the ones being tortured, being electrocuted and they felt bad for **him**._

_"Quite the collection, aren't they?" Gerard asked, studying Erica and Boyd, rubbing his left hand over the knuckles of his right. "My granddaughter caught them for me," he said proudly, and **Allison**? It was only now Stiles realised that Erica and Boyd were riddled with holes - Boyd especially. "I think she may be my greatest creation yet," he continued. "Might even give Kate a run for her money. We already know she's willing to sleep with a werewolf," Gerard said, in something like twisted glee. "Soon she'll take after her aunt in every possible way."_

_Stiles couldn't even fathom the level of grossness that implied, and stared at him in shock. "Dude," was all he managed, eventually. "You are **fucked**. In the **head**." Seriously, with Matt and Gerard to deal with, they were getting the crazy from all sides._

_Gerard actually laughed at that, **laughed** (which to Stiles' mind, only proved his point). "The greatest of humanity is never appreciated in its own lifetime. Fortunately," he said, "I intend to have a very long lifetime." He bent over Stiles again and Stiles couldn't help it, he cringed away as Gerard finally explained what Stiles was doing there in the first place. "I have a message, Stiles. For Scott, for not keeping his word. You're going to deliver it."_

_There was no possible way this was going to be good. "I could recommend something a little more secure. UPS? Carrier pigeon?" He received a punch to the stomach for that one, leaving him folded up on himself, gasping for breath. His body was going to be nothing but agony for days. "What?" he finally managed to heave out. "What is it?"_

_Gerard just smiled down at him psychotically, rolling up his sleeves. "Oh, it doesn't come with words."_

"Fuck!" Stiles exclaimed, jumping up from the sofa, pushing past anyone in the way to escape somewhere, anywhere, because Dad had been right - how the hell had he _done this_?

He might have heard someone say something about giving him space, he wasn't sure and didn't really care, intent on reaching the stairs that led out of here, that led _away_ but then Scott was there - cheating werewolf superpowers - familiar arms wrapping around him, holding him close and Stiles tried to break free and Scott just kept telling him that it was okay, it was okay, whatever it was they'd get through it but Stiles already knew that Scott had never really _understood_ , had never been broken and defeated in the same way that Stiles had.

"I can't," he tried to say, "I can't," but he couldn't even manage that, his throat swallowing up the words as it tightened, closer and closer and then Scott was gone, gone, someone else was there, a familar warm hand on the side of his neck.

Stiles snapped his eyes open.

_He held it together._

_He held it together until he brought Dad home from the hospital, resting in bed with a bandaged arm and irritable as hell. Held it together until he'd let the others know it was fine, until Scott finally left to go home. Held it together until the familiar sound of Dad snoring echoed through to where he stood, waiting on the other side of Dad's bedroom door. Held it together until he got into his own room, closed the door, and fell to his knees._

_And then he couldn't stop shaking._

_He'd been doing better - **better** \- since the treaty, since the Alpha Pack told Derek he was effectively on probation and they'd be back to check-in at some distant point in the future. As the summer passed in a haze of Scott and Jackson and lacrosse (and, okay, avoiding Peter, but Stiles was a pro at that now), Stiles thought it might even get good. Derek was off bonding with Erica and Boyd or whatever it was he was doing to fix things, so he wasn't having to deal with supernatural stuff very often. He was still having nightmares sometimes and it only stung a little when he saw Lydia, but apart from the occasional weird occurrence - this was their lives, after all - it was nothing like the relentless crushing grind of the first four, five months after Scott'd been turned._

_And then Dad pulled over a drunk driver. Who had a gun._

_They'd gotten lucky, really lucky. It was effectively just a flesh wound, Dad's own quick instincts stopping him from gaining a worse injury, but it didn't seem to matter. Stiles was gasping on the floor of his bedroom anyway._

_It was really fucking ironic that, after everything they'd been through, Dad had been hurt on the job by some idiot who drank too much and owned a gun license. It wasn't the first time Dad had been injured, not by a long shot, but it was the first time he'd been hurt on the job since that night at the precinct with Matt and, evidently, Stiles couldn't cope with it at all anymore._

_Stiles knew what was happening, could feel his breaths growing tighter and tighter, shorter and shorter, managed to push himself back until he leaning against a wall, tried to take control the way he'd taught himself over long experience, but it didn't seem to be working. His head was growing lighter and lighter and Dad had almost died, Dad had almost died and someone was suddenly kneeling in front of him, the shock forcing a small amount of oxygen into his lungs._

_He didn't know what Derek was doing there - he'd told them he was fine, fine - but he tried to bat him away, get him to leave but he couldn't say anything, couldn't even really breathe and it was so familiar, too familiar and then Derek leant in close, silently placing a hand on the side of Stiles' neck._

_And Stiles could breathe._

_Sucking in huge, heaving gulps of air, Stiles decided just to be grateful as the blackness that'd been etching into the edges of his vision disappeared. He was still panting hard, albeit slower and Derek was still touching his neck, staring intently into his eyes. Stiles stared back because he was stunned that it'd worked, stunned that Derek would do it at all, even if he was technically pack. He'd thought it was only physical pain, that it didn't even work on humans but it didn't matter because he could breathe, he could **breathe** and Derek already knew, Derek could plainly see what'd been happening, was the only one who could see what'd been happening and maybe that was the reason he said,_

_"I'm...usually b-better. At hiding it."_

_Stiles didn't talk about it. Stiles never talked about it. It was embarrassing and humiliating, but Derek already knew, Derek already knew and it was **nice** having someone who knew, even if it was accidental, even if it was Derek._

_Slowly sliding his hand away - Stiles just barely managed to stop himself from asking for it back - Derek nodded once, tightly, like he understood. He seemed to wait until he was sure Stiles was breathing normally, and then he was over by the window in the blink of an eye._

_Stiles had so many questions. How did it work? Why had he done it? Why had he come there at all? Questions he'd probably be too embarrassed to ask later. But he didn't ask anything at all, a mixture of humiliation and shock rendering him mute._

_Instead, Derek was the one who spoke. "I'm not one for talking," he said, something that was obvious to anyone who'd existed ever. "But if you want to talk while I don't say much at all..." He paused, hesitating. Found the courage to say whatever it was he wanted to say. "I wouldn't mind."_

_Derek left, then, out the window like it was his own personal Werewolf Catflap (Wereflap?) and Stiles just sat there stunned, back pressed against the wall, breathing easily for the first time in months._

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the wonderful rhiannonhero :) Feedback would be wonderful :) 
> 
> Sorry for the delay. RL has become a huge pain in my behind so when I do get time to myself, it's much less stressful for me to do something light and easy instead of delving into this complicated monster ;) Am still working on it whenever I'm able.

Stiles had no idea how Derek did it - he still wasn't quite with it despite Derek's 'help', trapped in the memories of the suckfest that his life had obviously become - but it felt like he blinked, and everyone else was gone. When he tried to concentrate, tried to think back on it, he vaguely remembered hearing Dad protesting but there was no sign of any of them now.

Just him and Derek, sitting on the sofa.

Stiles was ridiculously grateful for it. He'd just lost it in front of Derek again, and everyone else for the first time. He'd asked for this, asked for these memories but as he'd suspected they weren't actually something he wanted. Not when they made him feel like...that. Not when it ended up showing everyone just how broken he really was, when it gave him no more secrets left to keep.

Closing his eyes, Stiles let out a long, slow breath because at least he had this for the moment, he could _breathe_ and the reason for it was sitting to his left, not touching. But watching.

Always watching.

Stiles was beginning to realise just how much he - and Previous Stiles - had come to rely on that. Even if neither of them had realised it at the time.

Opening his eyes, Stiles tried to focus on anything but the image of Dad falling to the ground, Gerard's face as he grinned down at him, staring at Dad's bedroom door as he listened to him snore (breathe. Breathe breathe breathe). His body felt wrung-out and exhausted when, in reality, only a few minutes had passed.

Wrapping his arms around himself, hands slotting underneath his armpits, Stiles kept his head tipped down. Thought about what Derek had done - again, apparently. "How does..." He started, then stopped. Licked his lips. "I...remembered being surprised that it worked. On me. A human. The first time you did it. That thing you did with your hand," he thought to explain, in case he wasn't making sense. It seemed entirely possible because right now Stiles wasn't even making sense to himself. "Does it not normally? Is it supposed to be a...werewolf-only deal, or something?" Talking. Talking was good. The more he talked, the more normal he was starting to feel. The more time he spent talking, the less time he had to think.

"It doesn't work on other werewolves," Derek explained and Stiles appreciated the hell out of the fact that Derek wasn't trying to get him to talk about what'd set him off in the first place. And Stiles supposed the healing thing - or whatever the hell it was - shouldn't work on werewolves, as they already had their own freaky healing powers. Having both would just be overkill. Totally made sense, in the way that it didn't make any sense at all. "It does work on animals," Derek continued. "And it can work on humans." He paused, the weight of the silence heavy in the air. "Sometimes."

Obviously, Stiles fell somewhere in that sometimes bracket. "Sometimes?"

Stiles felt, more than saw, Derek shift next to him. "There has to be a...very specific set of circumstances."

Okay. Stiles could kind of see that, otherwise it'd be public knowledge among the Werewolf Aware, who'd be hunting down werewolves not to kill them, but to take advantage of their amazing healing abilities. "So you weren't even sure it was going to work."

"It was worth a try," Derek told him, which gave Stiles all the answer he needed.

He nodded slowly, head still bent over. "And it does...what, exactly? Takes pain away? Including...emotional pain or something?" Stiles had remembered that, too, being surprised that it was having an effect on a panic attack.

"Physical pain is straight-forward - it takes the pain away. We can't actual heal anyone, can't fix what's wrong with them."

Stiles was beginning to understand. "But it hurts less."

"Pain that isn't strictly physical is...more complicated," Derek continued. "It's not permanent. But the effect is much the same."

Licking his lips, Stiles nodded tightly. "Well...thanks," he said awkwardly. "Guess I owe you one. Twice over," he chuckled mirthlessly. God, his life.

"Stiles-"

"Tell me the rest," he instructed, suddenly sure. "All of it. All of it since..." He swallowed. "All of it since Gerard." He still didn't want to know but he had to, ironically had to protect himself by exposing himself to everything that could tear him apart emotionally.

God, the things Allison had done. Stiles didn't even know how to deal with it, and didn't even try. They'd obviously all worked it out, or she wouldn't have been part of the pack.

At least he was pretty sure there was nothing even worse than what he'd remembered already. His memories were still a mess sometimes - made even more confusing now by all the things he'd been told, all the things he knew but couldn't actually remember experiencing - but he was fairly sure he'd experienced the worst his memories had to give him.

Derek didn't ask if he was sure. Didn't ask if he thought he'd be able to cope. He just did exactly what Stiles asked.

There was a surprising amount that Stiles had remembered or figured out already; it was just some of the details missing. Like, he knew about the Alpha Pack coming to town and doing nothing for a long time, simply observing Derek - but he didn't know that they'd literally _watched_ Derek, turning up most places he went, staring at him, dialling his paranoia up to 1000%. This only proved to Stiles that this 'talent' was a werewolf characteristic, although the Alphas had clearly been using the tactic as some kind of psychological warfare.

He knew that they'd ended up working with Peter, not that they didn't really have a choice about it. Derek had taken Stiles' advice in the end, unbeknownst to all of them but Peter who'd been creeping around, as always. Derek had gone in the middle of the night, alone, without telling anyone. He tried to tell the Alpha Pack that he was learning, improving, but although Derek was intelligent he wasn't clever with words in the way that Peter was, wasn't good at politics. Peter, unsurprisingly, was a natural at politics and - fortunately, as much as it clearly pained Derek to say so - had followed him that night. He said everything Derek wanted to say in the ways Derek couldn't, while still not stepping over the line of Derek's authority as Alpha. Over the next few weeks, as they negotiated with the Alpha Pack, Derek grudgingly admitted that Peter needed to be there. Which meant Peter at the meetings. Peter at the warehouse. Peter pretty much everywhere they turned.

This, unfortunately, had apparently left Peter feeling like he was indispensible and, thus, like he could do anything he wanted.

Which was why, Derek suspected, Peter had started openly showing an interest in Stiles.

"I cannot tell you how thrilled that makes me," Stiles told him flatly. "Truly."

Huffing out an amused breath, Derek told him about the Alphas finally freeing Erica and Boyd and then he just...stopped.

Surprised, Stiles finally shifted himself, pulling his arms free, sitting back and turning his head to look at Derek. "That's it?" he asked, incredulous. "But that's barely into last summer. You're saying nothing's happened since then?" But then...he had kind of thought that before, hadn't he? That things had started calming down.

"Nothing big," Derek shrugged. "I know a lot happened in a relatively short period of time, but..."

Stiles was beginning to get it. "That's life." The more he thought about it, the more true he knew it was. You could go through shitty times - sometimes really long, shitty times - but life was usually the day-in day-out regular stuff. School. Work. Friends. Family. Grocery shopping. Chores. Bills. Life. Love. The first eleven years of Stiles' life had been astoundingly normal, considering, only taking a nosedive into horrific when Mom died. Life wasn't always one constant drama after another and that was actually reassurring because it helped convince Stiles that as awful as those memories had been, at least there really was nothing else horrifying waiting in the wings.

"Your Dad got...hurt," Derek admitted carefully, "but I'm assuming you remember-"

"Yeah," Stiles interrupted, glancing away again, goosebumps popping up on his skin. "I do."

Derek nodded. "There was a ghoul, at some point," he blurted out awkwardly. "Took an interest in Boyd. That's about it."

"So since then it's just been...life? Like, actual, normal, regular life stuff?"

"For the most part," Derek agreed. "You've been focusing on lacrosse and school. And I've been trying to focus on the pack. Trying to make it the way it...should be." There was an edge of guilt to his voice, like he knew he'd screwed up and was still trying to find ways to fix it.

Stiles thought of the rest of the pack, especially of how protective Isaac, Boyd and Erica were of him. "I think you've done a good job, Dad," he teased, thinking of Derek being like a parent to three new cubs, which he actually kind of was.

Derek's reaction wasn't eye rolling or subtle amusment, however. All he said was, "For your own sake, don't ever call me that in front of Erica." Stiles was definitely about to ask exactly what that meant when Derek spoke again. "You want me to go get your dad?"

He seriously thought the question over. All this talking and listening to non-horrific things had made him feel...not better, exactly, but a little more sturdy. Like he might actually be able to get somewhere un-aided. If he were honest with himself, mostly what he wanted to do was rest, even if he was afraid of what might be waiting for him when he closed his eyes.

"Is he...?" He gestured up towards the offices. When Derek nodded, so did Stiles. "I'll go up to him. I think...I should go."

Not judging, in fact not saying anything at all, Derek simply stood and held a hand out to him.

Stiles stared at it. Thought about it resting against the side of his neck, today and in his memory. Reached out and took it, bracing his weight against Derek, standing up. Deliberately didn't let go.

"Thank you," he said, really _looking_ at Derek so he'd know he meant it.

Nodding tightly, Derek pulled his hand free and walked away.

Leaving the warehouse was yet another painfully awkward experience - he'd had a lot of them. Dad desperately wanted to know how he was doing but didn't seem to know how to ask. Scott kept trying to hug him the entire time Stiles was trying to leave, and most of the rest of them just looked at him sadly and if pity could be measured physically, they would've been standing in gallons of the stuff.

Yeah, he needed to get the _hell_ out of there.

It was Jackson of all people who actually moved to intercept him before he got out the door. "Stilinski," he said, sounding the way he had before they'd ever become friends, "as soon as you're cleared for lacrosse again, I'm gonna kick your ass all over that field, you understand me? Amnesia is not an excuse."

Stiles literally had to stop himself from hugging him.

He let Dad drive the jeep home, mostly because he knew he'd never be able to concentrate. He spent the whole journey shooting looks to Dad, reminding himself that it was okay, Dad was okay, what'd happened was a long time ago even though it was fresh in his memory, that he could vividly remember it happening. Dad kept shooting him worried looks, too, and Stiles honestly had no idea how they got all the way home without crashing.

Once in the house, Stiles stood at the foot of the stairs, watching Dad put the keys on the entryway table. They were his keys this time, true, but it was such a familiar action, one he'd seen thousands of times before and he couldn't imagine not seeing Dad doing it again, Dad not being there to do it at all. Before he really knew what he was doing, he'd moved and had his arms around Dad in a fierce hug.

Clearly startled, it took Dad a few moments before squeezing tight in return, a hand rubbing up and down Stiles' back. For all their issues, they'd always been good at hugging.

Stiles felt his eyes filling up, felt the words wanting to come tumbling from his mouth. He let them. "You were hurt," he got out. "Matt with the gun. At the precinct. That drunk driver who shot you." He couldn't tell Dad about Gerard; didn't know that he'd ever be able to. Stiles tried to take a fortifying breath; didn't get very far. "It was like...two of the worst memories in my whole life, all at once. Like they both happened yesterday. Like they both happened _today_ ," he corrected, throat closing up with emotion.

"Hey," Dad told him quietly, the word somehow filled with assurance. "Hey, I'm right here."

Dad's body was warm and familiar and _breathing_ , and Stiles tried to take comfort from it. Eventually Dad cracked a joke about a man his age needing to sit down. It was an obvious ploy but Stiles let him get away with it, the two of them moving to the living room.

"You...want to talk about anything else?" Dad asked, sinking into his chair.

"Not really," Stiles said truthfully, wiping at his face. "We've barely done anything and I'm exhausted."

"Technically you're still recovering," Dad pointed out. "And it's been an emotional humdinger of a morning for me, so I can't even imagine what it's been like for you."

That surprised a laugh out of Stiles. "Humdinger?"

"Perfectly legitimate word," Dad argued, standing back up. "Get some rest on the sofa. I'll get a few chores done and then make something for lunch."

"Are you sure?" Stiles thought to ask, not that he didn't appreciate the offer. "You've kinda been doing everything around the house lately." Dad fixed him with an, _Don't be an idiot and let me look after you_ glare, making Stiles hold his hands up in supplication. "Okay, okay. Go do your indentured servitude thing, I don't mind."

Toeing his sneakers off, he followed Dad's suggestion and settled onto the sofa. He tried to get comfortable but everytime he closed his eyes he saw Matt hitting Dad on the head with the gun or Dad falling to the floor, unconscious. He tried to force himself to visualise something else instead, tried counting numbers in his head, but in the end the thing that worked was picturing cartoon werewolves jumping over fences.

He startled out of sleep right about the time Dream Matt hit Dream Dad with the gun, only this time it was followed up by Gerard shooting Dad in the head. Waking with a choked cry, remembering the imagined sight of blood and brain matter, he froze, panting, when he realised Dad was perched on the far end of the sofa, guilt etched onto every line of his face.

"I tried to wake you," Dad explained, staring at Stiles like he was seeing him for the first time. "You were talking...pleading." He looked horrified. "This isn't the first time you've had nightmares about this stuff."

It wasn't a question because it didn't need to be. Stiles may not have specifically remembered having nightmares during the Amnesia Blackout period, but he was pretty sure he'd remembered thinking about them. "I think so." Frankly, his brain was still traumatised by the dream he'd just had.

Swallowing heavily, Dad nodded his understanding. "I can't believe I didn't know about this." He sounded... _destroyed_ , like he was the worst father on the face of the planet, who'd ever existed anywhere and Stiles couldn't let that stand. He moved, shifting and folding his legs until he was kneeling on the sofa.

"I didn't want you to," he reminded Dad. "And you know what us Stilinski's are like when we want something." He was trying to produce a smile, a reaction, anything that wasn't the guilt weighing on Dad's features.

He was only partially successful, Dad casting his eyes down as the vaguest of vague smiles forced on his lips. "Lunch is done. Soup and sandwiches."

Stiles went with the distraction. "That horrible store-bought crap that's, like, 60% salt?" Starting tomorrow, he was totally taking over cooking duties.

"So you don't want it?"

Sniffing the air, Stiles felt his stomach rumble. "I didn't say _that._ "

*

The rest of the day was a strange, melancholy mix. He finished his homework. Had a shower. Silently watched TV with Dad (because he could, because Dad was still there to watch TV with). Ignored the multiple texts from the rest of the pack that were variations of _Let us know if you need anything_. He appreciated the sentiment but it was just too much right now. At 1am, when he should've been asleep - he had school the next day - he was instead playing a game he couldn't remember on his laptop, headphones on. He was well-past tired but was trying to make himself so exhausted that he wouldn't have any chance of dreaming at all.

He wondered if he used to do this a lot.

When his phone lit-up on the edge of the computer desk, he frowned and paused the game.

_**From: Erica**  
WTF did you do to derek? he's having nightmares and won't wake up. keeps begging gerard not to hit him then begs matt not to kill his dad. I've seen star trek. did you mind-thing him or something?_

It took Stiles' brain more than a few seconds to make any sense out of that whatsoever, and then it made an astoundingly horrible kind of sense.

_Pain that isn't strictly physical is...more complicated._

Oh, that _asshole._

_**To: Erica**  
on my way_

He didn't even bother changing out of his pajama bottoms and t-shirt, clinging onto his phone as he quietly but quickly moved downstairs, jamming his feet into his sneakers. Having enough presence of mind to leave a note in the kitchen in case it ended up being necessary, Stiles grabbed his keys from the table and flew out of the house towards the jeep.

His phone buzzed once during the now-familiar journey to the warehouse but he ignored it in favour of a) not crashing and b) getting there faster. When he finally did screech to a stop he grabbed the phone, opening the new message.

_**From: Boyd**  
He's awake now. He's fine. No need to come._

Ha! "Ha!" Stiles exclaimed, climbing out of the car, barely remembering to lock it as he hurried towards the entrance. Slowly opening the heavy metal door, he eventually got inside, passing through the darkened offices with ease.

Isaac was at the top of the stairs waiting for him. Peering down, Stiles could see Boyd and Erica quietly talking to each other, but Derek was nowhere to be seen.

"This isn't the first time this has happened," Isaac told him quietly but also guiltily, as if betraying a confidence that needed to be betrayed. "About...six months ago?" he shrugged, hands gripping the top of the barrier designed to stop people falling to their inevitable splattery deaths. "They weren't as close to them then and he managed to hide it from them, somehow. It was the same stuff," Isaac explained. "Pleading for his dad not to get shot. For...Gerard to stop..." He swallowed. "Hurting him." Moving again, he turned and faced Stiles. "But they're not his dreams, are they?"

"No."

Isaac nodded, like he'd just had a theory confirmed. "He's in the train."

They must've known he was there but neither Boyd or Erica even looked at him until he was almost at the bottom of the stairs. They both looked at him like they wanted to say something but didn't know what. Stiles barely sent them a glance, throwing his car keys onto the same table as the TV, then heading straight for one of the open doors to the train. Climbing up and inside, he peered into the carriage. Most of the seats had been pulled out, mattresses passing as beds placed throughout the carriage at random intervals. There had been some attempt at making it more than just a place to sleep; colourful cushions and blankets, a few personal belongings and photographs taped to the windows, but still.

Derek _really_ needed to upgrade.

As for Derek himself, he was sitting on one of the seats that was still there, right at the far end of the carriage. He had his head bowed down, his left hand slowly rubbing across his face. "Go away," he ordered in a tone of voice that only proved to Stiles that he knew exactly who was standing there.

Stiles stepped further into the carriage. "You're an idiot," he announced, picking his way through sheets, pillows - was that a teddy bear? - as he kept talking. "You didn't think to mention, 'Oh, this'll also psychologically damage me because that hugely illogical werewolf healing thing that makes _no sense whatsoever_ will pass your crap on to me'."

"I'm already psychologically damaged," Derek spat back, still hunched over.

"I'm serious," Stiles continued, finally coming to a stop a few feet from Derek. "What biological imperative did werewolves actually have to evolve this ability? It makes no sense in terms of evolution! I've read Darwin, okay - well, an online notes version - and there was a lot about birds and technically nothing about werewolves, but I'm pretty sure he'd have my back on this. Than again," he mused, "why did werewolves come into being at all? I'm pretty sure the ability to sprout hair at fifty paces does _no one_ any good-"

"I think I'd actually prefer the nightmares again right now."

"Don't _even_ ," Stiles said, because he did have a point here. "You should've told me."

"Right," Derek said sarcastically, finally looking up at him. "You try explaining to a guy who's already having a panic attack exactly what I was about to do and what the consequences would be. I thought it would _help._ "

Okay, point. Stiles blinked. And it did, in fact, help. Stiles just felt really shitty about it. "We agreed you'd tell me everything," he said a little - okay, a lot - petulantly.

Smirking mirthlessly, Derek shook his head. "You're smart enough to know I was never going to tell you everything."

And there was the elephant in the room. Carriage. Whatever.

But Derek had brought it up so as far as Stiles was concerned, that made it fair game. "About exactly where we are in our 'work in progress', right?"

Derek glowered at him. "Don't."

He couldn't seem to stop, taking a step closer. "It's the reason you did it at all. Tried to help me, even knowing what it could do to you."

"Stop it."

Stiles stepped forward again, so close now he was almost standing between Derek's legs. Derek had to tip his head back to look up at him. Stiles only found the bravery to take the last step forward because he'd had a truly, truly shitty day and there was Derek, being annoying and frustrating and _amazing_ and all he wanted to do was take Stiles' pain away.

Placing a hand gently on Derek's shoulder, Stiles looked down at his up-turned face. "Derek," he said quietly, "I don't want to see you suffer any more than you want to see me suffer." Something had been building between them, that much was clear, but just as obviously Derek had been holding back since Stiles had hit his head. Stiles hadn't known him but he knew him now, knew him in all the ways that mattered, the good and the bad.

And quite honestly, after the day he'd had? He _deserved_ this.

He knew without a doubt that Derek - _Derek_ \- wanted him and he was suddenly sure. So, so sure as he reached for Derek's wrists, guiding his arms towards him until Derek got the hint, hands grasping either side of Stiles' waist. Derek's face was almost un-readable as he stared up at him, jaw clenching, nostrils flaring. His fingers curled tightly into the material of Stiles' shirt, pulling it down tightly against his shoulders.

A thrill spiked through Stiles' body and yeah, okay, maybe he had issues.

He didn't care.

Derek was _still_ holding back and Stiles felt like he'd already been waiting eighteen months too long, thought of Derek pushing him against his bedroom door, of giving an injured Derek a lift home from Deaton's, Derek facing the kanima while Dad lay unconscious on the floor, Derek climbing into his bedroom looking for help, actually listening to Stiles' advice, helping Stiles through the panic attack and his simple generosity afterwards. All the visits to the DVD and grocery stores, his fumbling, touching offer to 'be there' for Stiles and his dad and all the different ways he had been there for Stiles since he'd woken up in the hospital, by being close but not _too_ close, not when it might freak Stiles out.

Stiles couldn't let him keep doing it anymore.

"Stop _protecting_ me."

It was the right thing to say because Stiles had already made his choice and this had to be Derek's, had to be Derek's and he finally made it, making a noise low in his throat as he surged up, fingers loosening their hold on the shirt as he spread them out against Stiles' side instead, gripping hard enough to bruise, face finally saying everything that his words couldn't.

It was Derek who moved them, turned them until Stiles' back was pressed against the side of the train - but it was Stiles who brought his arms up, grabbed the back of Derek's head and brought their mouths together.

TBC


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mom suddenly got taken into hospital yesterday. She's having an operation today. So, here's this part, and I don't know when the next will be posted.

Stiles had an admittedly small basis for comparison, but the kissing seemed really, _really_ good. For the first five seconds.

Because that was when Derek wrenched himself away, stumbling out of kissing and groping range - _so not fair_ \- not even staying to look Stiles in the eye, instead moving out the carriage as fast as werewolf-ly possible.

He was running away. Again.

"Hey!" Stiles called out, only half-joking as he took off after him. "You come back here and you kiss me!" He paused as he got to the open door of the carriage, because - oh, yeah. Erica and Boyd were definitely still right there, staring at Stiles like they were really, really disturbed.

They'd just actually heard him yell that. Even in jest. Right.

Derek - who was actually standing behind the sofa, like it would protect him from Stiles, like he _needed_ protecting from Stiles - looked equally disturbed. "Get out," he instructed and it took Stiles a moment to realise he wasn't the one being addressed. Boyd and Erica didn't hesitate, seeming only too glad to get the hell out of there.

Neither he or Derek moved, said or did anything other than look at each other until they were alone.

It gave Stiles the time he needed to calm down, take the sharper edges off his frustration, realise just how _wounded_ Derek looked. Stiles was no expert, but he was pretty sure that wasn't the way you were supposed to look right after kissing someone. There was something else going on here, something other than Derek just needing to be ridiculously noble.

So he stayed where he was. Didn't move any closer. And realised that, disturbingly, maybe he had needed that 'no means no' talk Dad had given him when he turned 15, because Derek had been telling him no in a variety of ways and he'd been so intent that he hadn't even paid attention.

That was more than a little disturbing to realise.

"Sorry," he said then, quietly, because he _had_ to, because shame was making his face heat up, making it harder and harder to meet Derek's gaze. Derek probably didn't even want him there right now. "I'll go," he offered, but as he turned to leave, Derek suddenly spoke.

"Why did you kiss me?"

Well, duh. Stiles had a whole bullet point list of reasons and after what'd just happened, the least he could do was give Derek what he was asking for, even if it was vaguely embarrassing. "Uh, have you seen you?" he started, making Derek glance down at himself briefly. "Not to mention the fact that we...like each other. And I wanted to kiss you." He paused, contemplating. "Mostly," he admitted, and knew this didn't sound particularly good even as it was coming out of his mouth, "I kissed you because I had an unbelievably shitty day and I wanted something...good." He glanced off to one side, not having realised until that moment how much of himself he'd be giving away, but knowing that he owed Derek this. "I wanted some comfort."

Nodding slowly like this wasn't a surprise, like it was mostly what he expected to hear, Derek responded. "It didn't feel right," he said in an abrupt sentence, because he was still Derek. "It should be...because we're both in a place where we want it. Not..." He shrugged. "Not because of a shitty day."

Stiles was learning more and more about Derek all the time. "You're a secret romantic," he said, voice half-teasing, half-amazement. Derek produced an impressive bitch-face in response, but Stiles couldn't stop talking. "Life is seriously not like it is in fairy tales, Derek."

He snorted. "Clearly you've never read the originals."

Conceding the point, Stiles corrected himself. "Life is seriously not like it is in the Disney fairy tales, Derek."

That made his lips quirk into a smile, at least. "You think I - me of all people - don't know that?" And yes, okay, that was another excellent point because Derek's life had been shittier than most. "But that doesn't mean that...things." He hesitated, because as much as he'd changed since Stiles could first remember knowing him, it obviously hadn't become easy for him to say this kind of thing. "Important things. Can't be done the right way."

Yeah. Derek was _absolutely_ a secret romantic. Stiles' heart seemed to be thumping a little heavier than usual despite himself. "Okay," he said softly, feeling all strangely warm and _shy_ now, which was ridiculous. "Well, for the record," he made himself say, because if Derek could be that truthful, it felt only right that he was, too. "I'm ready. To try. Whenever you want." Derek nodded, not seeming surprised, but from the look on his face... "But I'm not the only who he needs to be ready, got it." Stiles had seriously never suspected that he'd be in this position with another guy; guys were guys, right? They always wanted to do whatever would lead to sex. Even though Stiles knew that was bullshit being a guy himself, when you heard something often enough you almost started to buy into it.

Derek's past had been truly tragic - he'd lost practically his entire family in one fell swoop at the age of 16, only to have his sister murdered a few years later. It was amazing he was even able to function, never mind turn out to be the stubborn, shockingly thoughtful man he was. And the others may have refused to tell him any details, but whatever 'relationship' Derek had had with a human had obviously ended badly-

_"Can you keep a secret?"_

_Appalled that Scott even needed to ask, Stiles just looked at him. They were spread out Stiles' bedroom floor, obstenibly to get their Chemistry homework done. In reality, Stiles was finished and was pretending he hadn't so Scott might actually get somewhere. Scott just kept absently scrawling **A.A.** on everything and sighing melodramatically. Stiles had hoped that now everything was out in the open between Scott and Allison, Scott might finally realise the gravity of the situation he was in, dating a hunter's daughter._

_Alas, it was not to be, and the two of them were sneaking around having all the sex they could get away with at every opportunity. It was a miracle they hadn't been caught yet._

_If he were actually capable of it, he'd kind of hate them right now._

_"Right," Scott finally realised. "I'm a werewolf."_

_Stiles was pretty sure Scott actually forgot that sometimes. "And in today's edition of stating the blindingly obvious..." Stiles declared, which prompted Scott to throw a pen lid at him. Stiles easily batted it away before the two of them grinned stupidly at each other for a few moments._

_Eventually, Scott's smile lessened and he glanced down. "Allison's started telling me stuff. About her aunt."_

_Stiles' forehead pulled into a frown. "I take it this is something else other than her being a mass murderer?" Because dude, it wasn't like that wasn't disturbing enough already._

_"Apparently, after Kate told...showed her the truth about werewolves, she let some other things slip, too. And from the way she spoke about Derek..."_

_"What about him?"_

_Scott glanced towards the door, as if only now it was important enough to check that it was closed (when they'd already been talking about werewolves and murderers and God, Scott was useless sometimes). "Allison's pretty sure Kate seduced Derek when he was 16. That was how she got all the intel she needed for the fire - when they'd all be there, when the best time to set the fire would be. And as far as Allison could tell, it wasn't just sex for Derek. He was really into her, you know? And then she did...that to him."_

_Jesus. Derek might have been a grumpy-faced tool, but now he had even more reasons for it. Stiles couldn't imagine having to deal with that level of betrayal on top of everything else. And Kate Argent had to be...what, at the time? 23? 24? The cold calculatedness of it was shocking, enough that even Scott actually seemed to feel sorry for him, when Derek had been on his shit-list since taking any chance of the cure away from him._

_"That's fucked up, dude."_

_"Tell me about it," Scott nodded._

_"So, does that mean you're gonna cut Derek some slack?"_

_Frowning at him like he was speaking Swahili or something, Scott made a WTF face. "This isn't about Derek." Of course it wasn't. Stiles should've known better. "Could you imagine if Allison ever did anything like that to me?" Of course it was about Allison._

_"Never gonna happen," Stiles assured him with a sigh, reaching out to pat him on the back._

_"No, I know," Scott agreed quickly, "but imagine if she **did**."_

_Yeah. Stiles seriously needed a new best friend. Or at least one who wasn't so obsessed with his girlfriend._

Derek was still staring at him, seemingly unaware that anything had happened.

Well, _fuck_.

That put a whole new level of awfulness and twisted over everything, put everything Derek had said in a new light.

Made Stiles feel even more guilty for his behaviour in the train.

Licking his lips, not wanting to let Derek know what he'd just remembered, he gestured vaguely in the direction of the exit. "I should go." He didn't move, though, seemingly trapped by the power of the stare Derek had fixed him with.

Finally moving, finally stepping around the sofa, Derek paused next to the table. Looked awkward as hell. Forced out whatever he was thinking. "If you still want...comfort."

Stiles didn't even know what it was that Derek was offering, exactly. It clearly wasn't kissing or anything beyond that. He didn't think it was the healing touch or whatever the actual term for it was. But it was something that clearly seemed important to Derek and it was that thought as much as the curiousity that made him stay. He might have nodded, he wasn't sure, but then Derek was moving back towards the train carriage. Realising he was meant to follow, Stiles did, pausing when Derek stopped at the door and turned to give him a knowing look.

He immediately knew what it meant. "No funny business," he promised, holding his hands up.

Nodding, Derek turned back and climbed up into the carriage. Stiles wasn't sure what he was expecting by the time he stepped into the carriage himself, but it wasn't to see Derek settling down onto one of the mattresses, holding up one side of the blanket in obvious invitation, wearing a look in his eye that said he was kind of embarrassed but totally wanted to do this.

Stiles may have kicked his sneakers off. They ended up...somewhere.

Derek's small, private grin was something to behold.

It was weird, of course, by the time Stiles actually got down onto the mattress. They just kind of looked at each other, not touching.

"I haven't..." Stiles felt compelled to say, staring at Derek's face, so close to his own. "Technically I haven't slept with anyone in a long time. As in, _slept_ slept, you know?" That needed specifying. He didn't wait for Derek to respond. "There was Scott at a few sleepovers, but..." They'd got a bit old for that a while back. "So, um." Wow, Derek's eyelashes were really distracting. "You?"

His mouth pulled into an interesting shape. "Not since before the fire."

Right. Yeah. He didn't know if that meant Derek had never had sex since then, but he'd certainly never trusted anyone enough to do _this_ with them.

Until now.

And Stiles was suddenly feeling way less awkward. "What about hugs?" he asked, speaking mostly to himself, shifting closer, letting his hand rest on Derek's side. "I bet we need to get some hugging action in - you don't seem like much of a hugger. Luckily for you it's a Stilinski specialty and anyway, you promised comfort. Now, I agree, we didn't really discuss terms, but I'm afraid that for me, comfort means hugging and hugging means touching. So, if that's not really your thing you should - whoa."

Derek had moved, suddenly, rolling onto his back but reaching out to grab Stiles, bringing him with him. By the time Derek had stopped moving around, Stiles was sprawled half on top of him and was trying not to focus on just how good Derek's body felt beneath his.

Focus. This wasn't just about him.

"Or you could just do that," Stiles announced, beginning to realise he was going to have to work on this sleeping-with-another-person thing, especially if it became a habit (he really, really hoped it became a habit, for oh-so-many reasons). One arm was resting on Derek's chest, but the other was kind of trapped beneath him. "We may have to-"

"Stiles, shut up," Derek instructed, closing his eyes. "Or we'll never get any sleep."

For once, Stiles let himself be told what to do. Relaxed and sunk down into the mattress, against Derek, as much as he could. Bit his lip as he tried not to smile, taking in Derek's profile.

It was comforting.

*

There were nightmares, of course. Stiles woke them up first, crying out as Dream Dad was hit over the head again and again, until there was nothing of his skull left. He woke to Derek urgently saying his name, arms wrapped tight around him as Stiles kicked and flailed.

"Let go," Stiles instructed, "let _go_." Derek did and Stiles shifted on the bed, unintentionally whacking Derek with the arm he seemingly had no control of because, _ow_ , pins and needles. He hated pins and needles. "Okay, we need to find a new way of doing this," he complained, deciding to focus on this rather than the delightful dream he'd just endured, forcing himself to bend the fingers of the afflicted hand. As anticipated, the blood supply started to rush back in - bringing with it more pain. "Oh my God, pins and needles, pins and needles, you are the worst source of comfort in the _world_."

Grunting, Derek grabbed the offending arm and started fondling it. Stiles didn't know if it was helping or not, but anything that might get the blood supply back faster and thus hurt for a shorter period of time was worth attempting.

It was Derek's turn a couple of hours later, actually waking Stiles with a sleep-growl. Stiles ended up pinned to the bed, Derek on top of him, hands fisted into the sheets - or maybe his claws, Stiles wasn't quite sure - breathing hotly into Stiles' neck as he tried to get himself under control. "The things Gerard was doing," Derek ground out, shaking. "How scared you were. The things he was _doing_."

Swallowing hard, Stiles could only rub his hands down Derek's back, along his sides. "You idiot," he said, over and over again, trying to keep his voice from breaking. "You _idiot._ "

When he was woken up by the sound of his phone going off, Stiles flailed around before finding it lying next to the mattress. Derek moaned next to him - which was not in any way hot - drawing him closer.

It was just past 7am, and he wasn't really surprised to see that Dad was calling.

That didn't make it any less stressful to answer the phone. "Hi, Dad!" Okay, so he may have been pasting it on a little.

"I got your note," Dad said immediately. "Everything okay?"

Turning his head to glance at Derek, seeing his eyes blink open blearily as he woke up, Stiles felt a flood of warmth in his chest. "At the moment, yeah."

"Good," Dad said firmly. "And now I perform my fatherly duties and remind you that you need to come home so you can get your ass to school, and hope that you were safe last night."

Oh my God. " _Dad_." Derek produced a sleepy chuckle next to him, clearly having heard everything with his freaky annoying werewolf ears.

"Also, if this is going to keep happening, we need to have _words_."

Pulling the phone away from his ear, Stiles brought the mouthpiece right to his mouth. "Okay, thanks Dad! I'll be back soon! Love you, bye bye!" Ending the call, he grumpily tossed his phone to the side. There was no way he was up for any of those conversations this morning. He didn't really feel like he'd slept at all.

Focusing back on Derek, he shifted on the mattress until they were lying the way they had been when they'd crawled in last night - facing each other. Derek was smiling at him sleepily.

That wasn't hot at all, either.

"How'd you sleep?"

The shoulder Derek wasn't lying on moved in a shrug. "Had better."

"Me too," Stiles agreed, but also thought of the way Derek had been there, all night. The ways Derek had tried to help him, the ways Derek had let himself be helped. He didn't know what it was about the timing or the situation that'd made it happen, but he was sure that was the most open Derek had ever been with him. It made him want to do things, like reach out a hand, drag his fingers down the side of Derek's impossibly perfect face.

So he did.

Derek blinked at him slowly, but didn't tell him to stop.

It was kind of inevitable that, eventually, his fingers would drag across Derek's mouth. Stiles' gaze followed their path and he had to ask, he'd kick himself if he didn't.

"So, I know we're both mostly exhausted, but last night was still...good, when it wasn't being really crappy." He shrugged because hey, the truth was the truth. "In a way we kind of...saved each other." And yes, that was cheesy as hell, but he was working on a theme, here. He finally lifted his gaze, forcing himself to meet Derek's gaze. "I guess the question is...was it fairy tale enough for you?"

Derek blinked at him a few more times, and Stiles could see the moment he got it, see the moment he realised exactly what Stiles was asking, implying. Licking his lips, Derek stared at him. "I think it's...close enough."

Oh, thank God.

Stiles was forced to admit that Derek was right, though. As hot as the anger and being pushed against things was, this wasn't about desperation. This was just because it felt _right_.

He already knew what Derek felt like pressed on top of him but this was different now, with intent. Stiles opened his legs automatically, so one of Derek's could slot in as they finally pressed their mouths together. There was morning breath, which Stiles had completely forgotten about, but after a while it didn't matter at all. They kissed slowly and deeply, still really half-asleep, Stiles' hands going to Derek's hair, scraping at an exposed strip of skin where his shirt pulled up, resting at the top of Derek's ass just because he could, because he was _allowed_.

After a while it wasn't quite enough, though, and Stiles pushed at Derek to get him onto his back and Derek let him, didn't object as Stiles rolled them over and ended up straddling Derek's hips. Stiles bent down to kiss him again but Derek rose up to meet him and Stiles really wasn't sleepy now, really wasn't at all, especially with the way Derek's nails scratched down his back over his shirt, with the way Derek broke the kiss to mouth at the curve of Stiles' neck, with the way he could feel that Derek was enjoying this just as much as he was.

It was safe to say, then, that when Derek roughly pushed Stiles onto his back again, the last thing he expected was for Derek to pull away.

"Buh-guuh?" Stiles asked, or something close to it, completely lost, hands still grabbing for where Derek should be.

But Derek was sitting up, turning away. "You need to go. School."

Okay, he'd clearly missed _something_ here. Reaching out a hand, he touched Derek on the arm. "Derek..."

Derek just said one word. He only needed to say one word, really, that made Stiles find his sneakers and quietly leave, made him go without question:

"Please."

TBC


End file.
